Dark Matter
by jarms
Summary: Love... Imprint... Alpha... Bond... Rejection... Agony... Change... The sun has set and darkness prevails, but sometimes, time doesn't heal. Sometimes, time just hardens. How far will the Alpha fall when his imprint chooses to leave? Will he be able to claw back from the depths when she returns four years later? The journey begins here, but where will it end? Artwork by Nikitajuice
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**_**Additional disclaimer: This story will contain some darker themes and possible trigger material, including self-harm and emotional abuse. When applicable, individual disclaimers will also be posted at the top of each chapter.**_**

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_**Acknowledgments:**_

To the two women who have kicked my butt on this fic: Thank you! I could not have pulled _any_ of this off without either of you.

**Tayjayfan**, you are so much _more_ than awesome, and you've got my heart, Lady. None, and I do mean NONE, of this would have been possible without you holding my hand every step of the way.

**Meliz875**, what can I say? You have my deepest gratitude and my utmost respect. Everything you have done for me throughout this process continues to blow me away. Keep talkin' dirty to me! ;)

To the most amazing and talented artist I have ever had the pleasure of meeting: Thank you, **Nikitajuice** – what you do is nothing short of exquisite. There is no duplication, only imitation.

To everyone who spends any amount of precious time reading Dark Matter: Thank you!

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_**Author's Note:**_ First off, I want to thank everyone for signing up to go on this journey with me. I am so humbled by the immense support from you guys! I hope my work proves worthy of your time.

This fic was inspired by the darker side of Jacob. After reading other authors' works in the fandom that explored this topic, I decided I wanted to play around with him a bit, too. Every fic is different, but the allure of this dominant Alpha was just too great, and I needed to see where I could take him.

Dark Matter is NOT in any way, shape, or form a fluffy piece. It is NOT a romantic fairytale, and it _will_ take a while before anything even remotely resembling "sweet" comes out. This Jacob is not sappy (you've seen the banner, right? GAH!), and as the summary states, "the sun has set and darkness prevails". If you choose to take this fic on, and I _really_ hope you do, please remember that you have been warned.

Finally, some logistics – the prologue is short (2,000 words) in comparison to the chapters (7,000-9,000 words). I am expecting this to be a long short-story (about 10 chapters). AND, AND, AND, my GOAL for the posting schedule is weekly (on Tuesdays to be more precise).

_Okay, here we go!_

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_**Suggested Listening: **__"Born to Die" by Lana Del Rey_

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**Dark Matter**

* * *

Like the waves pleading with the ocean shore,

the blood-stained patterns left on the sands

are from the shredded nails of my clawing hands.

"It's the balance between the man and the wolf that allows them to protect: the power, the order, and the strength of the wolf mixed with the reason, the justice, and the passion of the man. The beast without the human would force them to be just as savage as the leeches they were born to kill."

– Billy Black

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_Prologue_

* * *

Jacob Black lies on his bed, hands cupped behind his head, staring at the patterns created by the spackle on the ceiling. He plays Russian Roulette with his memories. Spinning the barrel of long dead images, haunting visions from his past quickly flash through his mind.

_._

_Pouring rain, Bella pinned between his body and rough bark, feminine legs wrapped around his waist, strawberry scent mixed with intoxicating arousal, creamy skin and mahogany hair, quickening pulse, soft whimpers, "Oh God, Jake."_

_._

_Dodging trees in her white wedding dress, hair decorated with flowers and pulled up off her shoulders, mismatched lips laughing, weightlessness, happiness, freedom, screaming vampires in the distance, she chose __**him**__, "It was always you, Jake."_

.

"_Bella, it happened. The imprint…," heartbreaking sobs, "Don't cry, Bells. It's you… always has been."_

_._

_Motorcycles, wild first rides, her bike lays down, gripping fear and panic, blood trailing down her face, soft Bambi eyes looking up at him, "You know, you're sort of beautiful."_

.

"_I love you, Jake…"_

.

**BAM!**

The only bullet loaded in the revolver instantly implodes Jacob's heart as vivid hallucinations start to overtake his mind with unstoppable force. Too concrete, too real, too much.

.

_Jacob dropped the board he was using to level the wet cement. Jogging up the porch steps and through the front door, he let the screen slam behind him as he followed the sound of the soft, hiccupping sobs back to his bedroom. _

_Bella Swan was sitting cross-legged on the floor, underneath the window, wrapped in a towel with her face buried in her hands and her shoulders heaving, looking despondent and broken. _

_The morning sun came in through the slanted blinds and cast a soft glow around her shoulders and down her back. She looked so fragile and delicate in that moment; no one would have ever believed just three short months ago she'd left a blood-sucking leech at the altar for its only natural enemy… for a wolf… for Jacob._

_Heart catching in his throat, his pulse quickened in empathy, and he was at her side in four long strides._

"_Bells, honey, what's wrong?" Kneeling down next to her and cupping two fingers under her chin, Jacob pleaded with her to lift her face. "Look at me, Bells. Shhh, honey. It's okay. I'm here now."_

_Shaking her head, she batted him away. Rocking her body back to rest against the wall, she tipped her face toward the ceiling, quickly slapping her hands over her eyes. _

_He jerked his arm back as the fire from the rejection scorched his skin. Raking his fingers through his short hair in a feeble attempt to ground himself, he pleaded with his confused mind to make sense of her actions even while the ominous weight hanging in the air confirmed what he already knew…_

_Nothing good was going to make it out of that day alive._

"_Bella… please… look at me. What's wrong?"_

_Reaching out and gently tugging on her arm, he steeled himself for another searing blow, but this time she allowed him to coax her hands away from her face. Bella immediately dropped them into her lap at his feather-light touch while she kept her gaze trained on the speckles of the ceiling._

_Red, puffy eyes stared up at images only she could see as her wet hair cascaded around her shoulders and dripped down her arms. He positioned himself in her line of sight, but she quickly slammed her lids shut, closing them too tight and pushing creases through her forehead. The irrevocability of her actions made Jacob reel from the realization that __**he**__ had caused this response. _

"_No, no, no," she repeated the mantra as she slowly shook her head back and forth. "I can't do this… I'm so sorry… You're too good… You deserve more." Bella's words were somber as her tear ducts found another reservoir to tap and streams of liquid pain flushed out of her tightly closed eyes._

_Jacob's heart jumped into a mad dash before his muddled mind even registered that she'd spoken._

"_What!? NO! Bella… NO! You can't…" And that was when he caught sight of it – the inconspicuous suitcase, haphazardly packed and laying open on the edge of the bed._

_As all the pieces tumbled and clicked together in his head, it released the lock that had been concealing her intentions. Scalding heat escaped and was forced through his bloodstream. Sharp pain lanced across his chest and spread throughout his body. Raging despair over his inadequacy grew from the realization that he __**still**__ wasn't enough for her, and the Grim Reaper's icy talons reached up and gripped his heart. Shredded the weak muscle. Froze all the little pieces in a shattered-ruins state. _

_There was no doubt the pain was etched into his face as he turned back to the listless woman still sitting with her hands in her lap. She was now looking straight at him. As their eyes locked and she witnessed first-hand the power in her words and the desecration in her intent, she cracked and broke. _

"_Bella… please... I…" His hushed words fractured and silent tears ran down the planes of his cheeks as he pleaded with her. Opening his soul to her completely and allowing her to search its depths, he wordlessly begged her to take what she needed from him, to somehow find the strength to just __**try**__. _

_The honesty evident in Jacob's eyes was more than she could take. Dropping her gaze to the floor in passive dismissal, she whispered her barely audible request, "I __**need**__ you to let me go." _

_Standing to his full height, face frozen in horror, head slowly shaking in disbelief, his mind desperately tried to catch up._

_**What had she done!?**_

_Jacob gradually backed away from the small, wounded girl under the window like she was the one with a monster living inside._

_The stinging rejection from his imprint slaughtered everything he held dear and pierced every single solitary piece of his being. It forced him to retreat and cower in the darkest corner of his mind as the wolf rose up and devoured the man's weakened spirit. The beast overtook him with boiling rage and, like a puppeteer, it commanded his body to turn and run out of the house. _

_Leaping over the steps, Jacob felt the familiar push and pull of the torturous cycle of ripped muscles, torn ligaments, and broken bones; his crippled body continued to elongate and quickly heal, over and over again. _

_For the first time, the wolf had forced the phase. _

_For the first time, Jacob didn't fight for control._

_He landed with a loud thud on four paws that punctuated the drying concrete, leaving distinct and permanent impressions with all the finality of death. Immediately, his razor-sharp claws dug in and shot his body like a rocket toward the surrounding woods._

_The last human sound he heard was the whispered promise of his devastated imprint as he tore through the tree line and completely surrendered to the wolf. _

"_I love you, Jake…"_

_._

Jacob sits up and throws his legs over the side of his mattress. In an attempt to feel something other than heartache, he positions his elbows on his thighs and digs the bony joints into his flesh until the pressure becomes uncomfortable. Pushing his palms against his eyes, he registers for the first time the wetness that has collected on his lashes.

Fuck!

Why the hell does he have to be so weak? She left four years ago! She left _after _she **chose** Jacob! She left _after_ the imprint bonded!

But his pathetic mind can't move past the pain slicing through him every single time he visits those damn memories.

_YOU'RE THE FUCKING ALPHA, JACOB BLACK! GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, YOU WEAK BASTARD!_

The turbulent emotions rising to the surface of his awareness are just too intense, too overwhelming, and they threaten to drag him under.

**No.** This is _not_ how it should be. He can control this. He _will_ control this.

He reaches over and grabs his phone off the nightstand, looking for a distraction. Unlocking the screen and scrolling through his apps, he sees an email alert. Idly, he clicks on the icon and instantly freezes. Ice cold, prickly fear flushes through his body, and as his adrenal glands kick into overdrive, he fleetingly thinks about smashing the phone without opening the message.

All sound is blocked. His vision becomes tunneled. Time stands still.

Nothing else exists in this moment except for the understated email sitting in his inbox, patiently and innocently waiting for him to open its contents and display its message.

Regardless of its subject, Jacob knows these typed words will hold nothing for him but more pain, more agony.

He swipes at the smooth screen and a 'delete' button appears. Hovering the pad of his trembling index finger over the bright, red square, he weighs the options of his reality. For the sake of his dignity, for self-preservation and self-esteem, he pretends, if only for a moment, he could go on living _without_ reading the message. He pretends the curiosity wouldn't literally kill him.

But he _has_ to know what she needs.

It is _always_ what she needs.

He cancels the delete and hesitantly taps on Bella Swan's name, quickly shutting his lids in anticipation of the stinging pain he _knows_ is coming.

Peeking out under thick, black lashes, he surreptitiously glances at the digital display on his phone. This is the first direct contact either has made since the day she left and shattered him to his core.

And if he's being honest with himself, he is more than scared of what the power in her words will do to him this time.

.

From: Bella Swan

To: Jacob Black

Sent: Tuesday, August 27, 2013; 4:37 AM

Subject:

I can't sleep.

I've been awake all night, staring at this blank screen, trying to decide how to write down what I need to tell you. But I can't get it right. I must have started this damn email over 20 times, deleting each one because it just doesn't deliver the message the way it should. I'm starting to think that words just aren't adequate.

Jake, I'm coming home.

I'm sorry… for everything.

-Bella

.

His lashes fluttering and his vision blurry, the warm wetness of fresh tears spill over the lower rim of his lids and track down his face. In rivulets of muddy water discolored by a turbulent past, he lets them flow, unobstructed and free falling.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _;-)


	2. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note:_ **First off, I want to say "Thank You" for giving Dark Matter a chance! The support I have received has been amazing! :)

As for Chapter 1 – I would just like to remind everyone that these characters are _not_ meant to be role models, and their actions are _not_ meant to be mimicked. They are broken at this time, and will further break before the end of this fic.

* This chapter is being posted early. I don't know if I will continue to release subsequent chapters before the Tuesday deadline or not, so please consider this an anomaly to the posting schedule! *

_Warning: _This chapter contains sexual content and therefore, the rating of M strongly applies.

_Okay, here we go!_

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**_Suggested Listening: _**_"Black" by Pearl Jam (1st half) & "Gods and Monsters" by Lana Del Rey (2nd half)_

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Chapter 1

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The roar of the HEMI reverberates through his body as Jacob Black forces his car faster, hugging the curve of the tree-lined road on his way to protect his soul.

Pressing the accelerator to the floor, he watches the needle on the speedometer slowly creep up as he reaches the isolated outskirts of the Rez where the passage becomes narrower and graveled, and he barks out a sardonic laugh.

His favorite track from an old-school Godsmack CD clicks on and, out of habit, he reaches his arm over to crank up the volume. The lead singer challenges demons from his past to run scared, and Jacob feels a familiar rush of adrenaline aggressively course through his veins. This is what he's searching for tonight – this shield, this armor of heated power. This bulletproof vest, sewn together with hostility and reinforced with indifference, is what he wants to make permanent.

Speakers blast, delivering heavy vibrations intent on suffocating him in the intensity of the vocals – condemning those that were too weak before. It's almost overwhelming; the song of choice resonates with Jacob on such a visceral level he isn't able to process the similarities past the guitar riffs and heavy bassline.

When the tone changes and the words beg for salvation – for absolution, for understanding – Jacob can almost sense the personal connection before it passes through his mind too quickly.

A thought on the tip of a tongue lost before it's spoken...

Arriving at his destination, he slams the brakes, turning a hard left into the parking lot while his backend fishtails in a feeble attempt at traction. Regardless, Jacob maintains control of the pristinely reconditioned 1971 'Cuda the same way he rules every other aspect of his life – with an iron-clawed grip. He throws the emergency brake he installed during the rebuild, and the iconic piece of American muscle comes to an abrupt stop, sliding perfectly into position with the resting herd of vehicles lined neatly in a row.

Glancing at the small, rundown structure that attracts every version of the "wrong kind" of crowd, Jacob forcefully pops open the driver's side door as he yanks the key out of the ignition. Thrown into sudden silence, the contrast from the screaming vocals is deafening, and even the crickets stop chirping.

As Jacob steps out of his treasured classic, he reaches over his head, grabbing the back of his t-shirt and pulling it off his body in one fluid movement. Inhaling deeply, his nostrils fill with the fresh aroma of pine. Taking a few seconds to survey the scene, he attempts to steady his mind. He tosses his shirt in the driver's seat, slams the car door, and starts walking toward another dose of immunity.

Before him stands one building with two entrances: two establishments, two alternatives – peace on the left and protection on the right. For a moment, Jacob weighs his options, wondering if he should give up what he needs for what he wants. Ultimately deciding to stick with protection, he veers to the right and ducks through the single, wooden door.

Jacob's eyes slice through the small reception area, effectively decapitating every patron patiently waiting their turn before dropping, as would a guillotine, on Coda Forrester. The middle-aged, Quileute man blanches and a visible shiver runs through his body. Jacob can smell his fear – that deep, pungent stench of a wound left open far too long.

"Whoa, Jake. Uh… You're early… _real_ early, man. Umm… Wh-whad'ya need, brother?"

Coda wrings his hands and averts his eyes as he stumbles over the wary greeting.

Jacob languidly blinks, relieving some of the heat cast onto the man by his heavy stare, and clearly states each word like an omen. "It's. Time."

The shock widening Coda's eyes is obvious to everyone in the small room, but he accommodates the request even as he stammers through his apologies to his waiting customers.

Holding open the curtain and exposing the back room, he drops his gaze to the floor and petitions Jacob to lead the way through the small entrance. A private smirk jumps to Jacob's lips, briefly allowing himself to appreciate the self-preservation instincts subconsciously ingrained into Coda because no man should _ever_ turn his back on a dominant wolf.

Jacob rolls his shoulders, releasing the constant tension constricting his muscles. Tilting his head to fit under the frame, he walks through the partitioning curtain, ready to paint on another layer of protection.

He pauses just inside the opening while Coda pushes his body back and skims the wall in order to give his patron as wide a berth as possible. These already cramped quarters are further obstructed by a large table, makeshift work station, and a chair on wheels. The small space forces Coda into a silent dance, choreographed for one, as he frantically paces from table to work station and back again in preparation of the coming ritual, checking and rechecking his tools.

Waiting on Coda to literally and figuratively sort his shit out, Jacob catches the image of his arm in the full length mirror hung on the far wall. Eyes locking on his forearm, he is temporarily stunned by the lack of scarring from all the claws that have dug into this skin.

His gaze travels up the reflection of his arm, and just as the tribal pattern of the thick, black, wavy stripes snaking down his bicep comes into view, Jacob's attention is jerked back to Coda. The man has quietly cleared his throat, signaling he is ready to begin.

"Are we working on the girl, then?" Coda asks, still looking down at his tools in the pretense of preparation.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, the wolf responding to any mention of "the girl." Jacob stares at the top of the man's head, daring him to look up and make eye contact but ready to assert his authority the second he does. There must be no mistake as to who is in control here.

Breaking their silent standoff, Coda eventually yields. With cold sweat oozing out of his pores and a heartbeat rivaling that of a racehorse just coming down the backstretch, he tentatively peeks up through his lashes and is met with Jacob's menacing sneer.

Before exposing his vulnerability in a defenseless posture, Jacob must demonstrate his dominance. He must be assured that even in a susceptible state, no one would dare think of trying to overtake him, and having just completed this ritual with Coda, Jacob is free to respond with a deep and abrupt "Yes!"

Striding to the table and lying down on his stomach, he gives the older Quileute man access to the blank canvas that is his back.

As the motor on the small gun switches on, Coda visibly relaxes. His breathing and heart rate slow in response to the comforting routine his craft affords him. Jacob knows this man is confident in his abilities and discreet in his clientele, which is why he only comes to this small, rundown shop when it's time for another dose.

Closing his eyes, Jacob welcomes the slight stinging sensation as the needle pierces his skin, over and over again, in a monotonous pattern laced with the numbing effects of cocaine. His mind is finally quieting as he focuses solely on the trivial pinching of those tiny stabs from the multi-head needle depositing black ink into his skin.

_**This**_ is a pain he can control. A pain he can understand.

Welcoming the relief his awareness brings, further hardening his resolve and building up his immunity, Jacob is preparing himself for the mind-crushing torment of her return. This is the _only_ way he can shield himself from her, by painting on this protective coat of armor.

Mind relishing in the emotionless black hole sucking him in, he barely breathes, struck by one last final realization – he _**deserves**_ these permanent marks on his skin. Through all the agony he has endured, these black lines are the only outward signs his body exhibits. They are badges, but are not of honor. These are the badges of grief, of sorrow, of anger and hate. These are the badges of failed hope and isolated longing.

They remind him of his inadequacies, and he hates every single one of them.

Desperately trying to find solace in the quiet nothingness, Jacob refuses to look directly into the eyes of this most recent epiphany. He instinctively knows those veins run so much deeper, but right now, he's trying to climb back out of the tunnel and just focus on the pinching sensations running down his back.

Staring at an insignificant spot on the wall, he is able to lull his brain into a robotic state, void of emotion and introspection and ruled by calculating strategy. This place is much closer to the Alpha's influence than it is to Jacob's, and he gets lost for hours in the tactical nature of duty and in the constant scanning of the metaphorical horizon.

Hearing Coda's bones crack as he moves from his hunched state, Jacob realizes the loss of sensation as the needles are withdrawn from his skin. Feeling the coolness of the rag as his back is wiped down for the final time, alerting him to the fact his time is up. He knows the numbness building up over the past few hours will slowly recede to again reveal the mounds of heavy baggage, and he fully intends to retreat into the wolf before that overburdened pile topples and comes crashing down.

Coda's voice pulls him completely free from those sticky strings of shrewd tactics as Jacob blinks away the cobwebs and rises off the table.

"You gonna come 'round next month for s'more work… like we had planned?"

Moving to exit the small quarters, Jacob pauses just before the curtain, turning over his shoulder and offering Coda a terse reply. "Be available."

Pushing through the wooden door and back out into the open night air, Jacob notices the parking lot has filled. Skimming the cars parked on the gravel, he fixes his gaze on a 90s model blue Civic off to the side of the building. He glances to his right, staring at the wooden structure where peace awaits him as the wolf threatens Jacob with a menacing growl.

Deciding he needs to revel in the sanctuary of the wolf more than he wants a fleeting moment of peace, Jacob shakes off the slight pull of the unanswered promise and continues walking toward his matte black 'Cuda.

Noticing a small piece of paper trapped beneath his wiper blade, he reaches over and plucks it out, pulling the keys from the side pocket of his camo cargo shorts.

Opening his car door, he studies the curvy feminine writing as he reads the quick message. Written in red ink and signed with a heart, Shayna wants him to come in and see her.

Still needing the wolf more, he crumples up the paper and throws it on the passenger side floorboard. Grabbing the black t-shirt off the driver's seat, he slips it on over his head and slides behind the wheel. He pulls out his phone, and another email alert is innocently flashing at him.

_**Shit!**_

He momentarily fools himself into believing it could just be some random spam mail that slipped through his filters, but one glance at the time and he knows that's just wishful thinking.

_Still… it could be…_

Fuck this! If he hangs on to this hope too long, then it will just turn into another failure. He quickly taps the app and his inbox flashes to the screen.

In bold, black letters, the name Bella Swan appears, and all the bravado he held just milliseconds ago vanishes in a puff of smoke.

Unable to bring himself to open the message, he files it away with all the other unanswered emails, saving it for later, for when he's alone and it's safe. He adds it to the tally he's keeping in his head – seven emails in the last 25 days.

This is real. She's coming, and he has to face it sooner or later.

He opts for later.

Hanging his head and resting his brow on the steering wheel, he slams the iron door on his swelling emotions and glances over to where Shayna awaits.

He needs to surrender to the wolf. It's starting to pace back and forth in his chest – antsy, restless, wanting to be released – but the beast will just have to wait. Right now, Jacob _needs_ peace.

Stepping back out of his car and slamming the door, he keeps his eyes trained on the entrance to the left – the establishment that is responsible for filling the parking lot with bikes, trucks, and sedans, most of which are cradling wedding rings in one of their random compartments.

Crossing the gravel parking lot in direct pursuit of his doom, he goes over every detail of the floor plan inside; always on duty, tactically searching for every point of entry, especially when the space is filled with drunken testosterone.

There are four exits from the building. Three are ground level, clearly marked, and obvious to every patron who walks through the front door; the fourth leads to the roof. Access is gained from a small storage room behind the bar where they keep the booze. Jacob saw the small, square cutout in the ceiling the last time he closed down the place with Shayna Lewis. She'd pulled him in the room and pushed him to the floor, pleading with him to let her have her way. He'd willingly agreed because she was good at distraction and he needed a release, but not until after he made note of every way in or out of those small quarters.

Jacob pauses in the gravel lot, one step before making contact with the concrete slab, one step before the point of no return.

What the hell is he doing here?

The idea of turning around and disappearing into the surrounding woods is tempting, too tempting. He could just run with the wolf for a while, getting lost in action and reaction, not stuck in thinking and contemplating. No strategy, no responsibility. But that won't give him peace, and right now, he's desperate for a few blissful moments of that elusive tranquility.

This shit with Bella is getting too intense. He knows he has to face it soon, but he's just not ready yet. The inoculation that he just got ten minutes ago still hasn't had time to immunize his soul, and if he opens the cover of that fiery pit tonight, he knows he'll be burned alive.

Slowly tilting his head from one side to the other until all the bones in his neck crack, Jacob relieves some of his built-up tension. He lets out an unhurried breath and languidly blinks the way a predator does when he knows there is nothing _alive_ that can effectively challenge him. Chin up, shoulders back, hooded eyes laser in on the door. The blood coursing through his veins heats as he concentrates on his purpose and he feels powerful, strong; he merely thinks of crossing the threshold and immediately he senses the Alpha guide the man across the slab of concrete and through the door. This is the way his body works; he makes decisions and the Alpha reacts.

At least that's how it works when _Jacob _is in control.

Standing guard just inside the door is a bouncer that would be considered large by the average man's standards. Hired to intimidate the guests and scare them into compliance, the wall of solid muscle and menacing stares stands just shy of six feet. Unfortunately for the bouncer, Jacob is not an average man.

Jacob's hard eyes cut deep into the man and a low, heated growl rolls through his body, sending vibrations up the guard's spine. Self-preservation and instinct take over as the bouncer's confused and twitching eyes drop to the floor.

With each step into the dark and open room, Jacob feels the wolf rising, its big head shaking side to side, threatening to rip a hole through his chest. Its power is pumping adrenaline through Jacob's veins, but outwardly, only his nostrils flare as he inhales deeply to calm himself.

Cocking his head slightly to the left in that lupine way, the wolf rebels. The beast is fighting for control – fighting with Jacob to turn and run, to release it from its cage of human bone and muscle. The wolf doesn't want this; the peace that the man is in search of will only further agitate the beast.

Unfortunately for the wolf, Jacob doesn't care.

The internal struggle between the two is intense, as it has increasingly become, but Jacob has always pulled through as the victor. With focused determination and unforgiving force, he holds the wolf's massive spirit down until it whimpers for mercy.

Jacob straightens his neck and slightly lifts his chin, gaining full control and standing proud. He allows a superior smirk to play at the corner of his lips. Craving the heated charge coursing through his veins, his heart jackhammers the triumphant energy throughout his body. He flexes his fingers once and pulls them into hard fists at his side. The feeling of the ripcord-tight tension pulling up his arms and through his muscles is refreshing. It is easy and welcoming and familiar.

Incidentally rolling his shoulders and allowing the built-up power to flow out his fingertips, Jacob relaxes his grip and moves to the black vinyl bench running the length of the wall.

Before he can fully stretch his legs and lounge against the back of the padded seat, a scantily clad waitress saunters over to him.

"Would you like something to drink? Umm… maybe a b-beer?"

She's nervous. Jacob hears her blood rushing through her veins and her heart accelerating. She's spinning the ring on her middle finger, and as he looks up at her from under a hooded brow, he sees her eyes are locked on his hand – the one resting on his thigh.

Slowly lifting his chin and angling his face in her direction, head cocked arrogantly to the side, he waits… challenging… patiently.

She eventually yields under his heavy stare and lifts her gaze to meet his.

With a playboy grin, he drops his voice and responds, "Something _dark_." The last word is accented with a quirked brow, aged to perfection from years of use.

A soft whimper escapes her lips and her breathing becomes light – quick, like a hummingbird's wings. Standing before him, frozen, her scent thickens and transforms into something sweet and erotic as she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth.

Jacob slowly shakes his head in reprimand. Deliberately enunciating each word, he warns the girl. "Don't. Bite. Your. Lip." Popping the 'P' and replacing the words with a sinister smirk.

A quick breath is forced from her body as her mouth drops open, releasing her imprisoned lip.

"Yes... sir," she murmurs as she stammers back to life and heads back toward the bar.

Jacob watches her walk away in appreciation, hips swinging, ass swaying, and lean muscles flexing. She is not the reason he is here tonight, but he knows she would be willing.

The choice is his after all, and Jacob, quite frankly, is a man who _likes_ the feel of a woman under him. But… they don't _do_ anything for him really. It's good in the moment, but nothing lingers after the act. No attachments; it's just pussy, and that's the one thing that has gotten easier over the last four years.

Women throw themselves at him every place he goes. Long legs in micro skirts are never in short supply. He supposes they all just want something from him – a taste of the slums maybe, the whole wrong-side-of-the-track fantasy most good girls seem to crave. Even the ones with daddy issues get to feel like somebody actually wants them around for a while. It isn't such a disservice on his end really, so he obliges because he gets something out of it, too… a few, solitary minutes of peace.

The girl, having regained her composure, brings his beer to him and sets it on the table on top of a napkin. She rushes off as Shayna's theme song begins to play over the speakers.

Grabbing the frosty, longneck bottle, Jacob tosses the cool, dark liquid into his mouth and lets it roll down his throat in a pathetic attempt at massaging his lacerated chest. He may have shut the beast down when he walked through the front door, but not until after it had carved out its mark.

Resting the beer on his knee in a cavalier pose, he looks to the stage and locks eyes with Shayna. A private smile tiptoes onto her lips as she moves her body like draped silk swaying on a light breeze, her hips rolling to the relaxed, sultry rhythm of the music.

Leisurely making her way to the end of the stage, wrapping her slender fingers around the pole, she slowly allows the momentum of her weight to guide her around the sleek metal. Leaning out and tilting her head, her long blonde hair grazes her waist. The exposed plane of her stomach shimmers under the low, sensual lighting in a mix of dew and glitter. Her body is made solely for seduction and ecstasy.

Twisting around the pole in a downward spiral, she reaches the glossy floor. Jacob can see every muscle contract as she presses her shoulders down against the hard ground and tightens her thighs. She curves her hips up to the sky and flexes her calves as she pushes the balls of her feet down into her red high heels. She slides her back along the smooth surface until she is able to lay her body down flat against the floor. Slowly, Shayna arches her back and begins to sensually rock her hips again.

The mix of low lighting, enticing music, and seductive movement makes her performance hypnotizing. A hush overtakes the crowd, each person caught in the same erotic dream. All eyes are on her while someone makes cash rain over her undulating body.

Just as quickly as it began, the spell is broken when an older man wearing a vest covered in patches, obviously belonging to one of the bikes outside, reaches across the stage and grabs her tit. Ever the self-deprecating girl she is, Shayna just closes her eyes and continues to move her hips, pretending that some burly man old enough to be her father isn't groping her in front of a crowd.

Before the bouncer even registers what is happening, Jacob has already put down his beer.

He leaps over the table and is on the man, grabbing him by the back of the neck and ripping his greedy hand off her body. He twists the man's wide frame around so they are face to face, and golden iridescence flashes through Jacob's eyes as the wolf awakens. The sudden rush of adrenaline is peaking. The beast is gnashing its teeth, frantically pacing.

It wants to kill.

The pungent aroma of cold fear suddenly spikes through the overzealous biker and hovers in the air. The stench claims the man's aura as its own, fills the space with its presence, and causes any colors resting there to disperse.

Releasing the back of his neck, Jacob takes his other hand and slams it, open palm, into the man's throat, forcing him to bend backward over the stage. His overgrown body smacks hard against the floor, just two feet from Shayna's head, as Jacob rams his knee into the biker's heavy gut. Inches from an oily face and forced to endure the smell of stale smoke, liquor, rotting gums, and tooth decay, Jacob spits his words like acid, "Leave now, Hókwat'."

The man pinned under his knee is trembling with huge eyes, and the only sound coming from him is the squirting noise in the back of his throat as he tries to force a swallow past the barrier of Jacob's hand.

Jacob eases his grip and the man starts to squirm. This premature movement causes the wolf to think the biker isn't quite ready to submit, and Jacob happens to agree, so he puts the pressure back down on his throat.

Leaning his body in, effectively adding more weight behind his knee and further pushing the man's spine into the edge of the stage, he growls into the biker's ear, low and menacing, "I could kill you. I _want_ to kill you. This is your last warning. _Kíka_: go, **NOW!**"

Releasing the man completely, Jacob takes one long stride backward and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting patiently with a stoic mask void of all emotion.

The biker struggles to get up as one of his buddies comes to his rescue. Clasping his arm, the man is pulled up, and the entire group scurries out the door like a pack of rats when the lights come on.

Jacob looks up to see Shayna with her back pressed against the pole, staring at him in bewilderment.

She silently mouths, "Thank you," and the movement of her lips, as they glide over the appreciative words, grabs his attention and becomes his focal point.

Like the remnants of a dream chased away by the morning sun, those mismatched lips mesmerize Jacob and remind him of something vaguely familiar yet extremely personal. He's always been transported by her mouth. An incomprehensible pull to his psyche, it's as if something braided and fibrous tethers his focus to every intricate movement of her lips.

The music hits its last note while outside, the roar of five bike engines decrescendo into the distance. Reaching over her head, Shayna grabs hold of the pole and pulls herself off the floor. Turning toward the back of the seedy club, she walks through the curtain, leaving her tips scattered across the floor of the stage like trash on the side of a road.

Jacob releases steaming tension on an exhale through his nose, allowing both the man and the beast to calm down to a more suitable level before turning to make his way back to his post.

Picking up his warming beer and tipping it to his mouth, he lounges back on the bench. The deejay chooses a more upbeat tempo for the next performer to gyrate to as Shayna walks out from behind the stage with her body covered by a short, silk robe. Locking eyes with Jacob, she begins to sashay through the crowd toward him. Nevertheless, her advance is delayed as she pauses by random tables all school-girl giggles and bouncing tits – always performing for the people, always "on."

Finally breaking free from the roaming hands of the men at the closest table, she looks up at Jacob from under a veil of long, glued-on lashes. She closes the last few feet of the gap and takes his beer from his hand. Placing it on the table, she turns to him and positions her body between his legs, invading his space with confidence and seduction gleaming in her eyes.

She bends over him with hands resting on the back of the padded seat, jutting her tits toward his mouth and straddling his lap so the warmth of her sex is resting on his crotch.

"Hi," Shayna breathes with a tentative smile.

_Holy fuck!_

The allure of her mouth is threatening to pull him under. His mind drifts to all the things she can do – she _does_ do with that mouth – and all the fleeting moments of peace she has given him.

He wants to push his cock past her lips right here, right now.

Jacob forces himself out of the petitioning spell cast by her lips and responds to her greeting with a challenging smirk and a single, raised brow that sends shockwaves straight to the apex of her thighs.

She squirms and the long, lean muscles of her thighs contract as she exhales a whimper. Shayna's skin flushes, and Jacob's smirk transforms into a devilish grin, his eyes melting into pools of rich, hot chocolate meant to deepen the pulsing ache between her legs.

He leans into her body as she tilts her head and exposes her vulnerable neck. Closing his eyes and forcing himself to exist only in the moment, he starts at her collarbone and skims her delicate skin with his nose and warm breath, on a torturously slow ascent up to the well under her ear. Nostrils flaring, he deeply inhales the fragrance trapped in Shayna's golden tresses. "Mmm… strawberries." He breathes out the words, dark and husky, as the wolf rumbles appreciation for her obedience.

Shayna is using the shampoo he requested, and the man values what she gives him even more because she is _good_ at doing what she is told.

She suggestively rolls her hips against his body. "Jacob, I _know_ what you want, baby."

"Do you now?" Jacob challenges with a mischievous lift to the corner of his mouth, leaning back against the seat once more.

The deep bass of his voice vibrates through her body, and she instantly reacts with a release of sticky liquid pooling between her thighs. Her scent reaches him, and he chuckles darkly to himself because she is so sure she's right.

Jacob decides to reward her for her effort, laying his hands over her round ass, each palm claiming its own supple mound with a dominant squeeze. Her pliable cheeks give under the pressure of his strong, kneading grip as yet another whimper escapes her lips. Holding her in place, he suggestively pushes his groin into her needy sex, and her eyes roll back under fluttering lids.

He leans in close to her ear and whispers, "I'm going to take you outside, and you're going to get down on your knees, open that pretty mouth, and show me that you _know_ what I want."

Jacob slowly leans back just enough to take one hand from her ass and reach up to her captivated mouth. He rubs his thumb along her pouty bottom lip, chasing the movement with his eyes like a hungry predator stalking its naïve prey. Rocking his hips into her once more, Jacob slowly runs his tongue along his lip and offers one last seductive command…

"Now."

At the final blow, a fully-charged jolt shoots through Shayna's southernmost heated lips and she comes apart on his lap, in front of everyone. Jacob reaches his hand around her neck and grabs a fistful of golden hair at the base of her skull. She gasps as he pulls her head into his body, and with the help of the loud, thumping speakers, she muffles her moans against Jacob's shoulder.

As her body rides the waves of pleasure, Jacob closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. Her erotic scent mixed with the strawberry fragrance of her shampoo is overwhelming and sends confused signals to his brain. Jacob clearly sees his fingers woven through mahogany locks, knows that the hands desperately grabbing his shoulders are a pale shade of cream, can clearly feel the heat from the deep blush radiating off her cheeks. He feels lost in a drowning spiral of delusion as the wolf brings Jacob to the surface with a soft growl. The beast is responding to the image of their imprint as it plays across the screen of the man's mind.

Jacob's eyes snap open.

_What the hell was that?!_

This shit with Bella is stabbing him in his back and cracking the fresh armor that hasn't even dried yet.

Jacob looks down to the blonde tresses and tanned skin draped around him. He forces himself to breathe through the nausea building in his gut and to focus, again, on the need that is building even lower.

When Shayna is able to control her panting, she backs away and looks innocently into his dark eyes.

"Good girl," he croons, releasing his grip to stroke her hair.

Jacob is in desperate need of peace. He is seriously beginning to lose control of his shit, and he instinctively knows the last hallucination was just the tip of the iceberg. He's got to get Shayna outside, _now_.

Hands on her waist, he guides her off his lap and onto the bench beside him. Standing before her, Jacob reaches out with his open palm, and she places her hand in his. Flicking his wrist, he gently tugs on her arm, and she is lifted off the seat and perfectly balanced on those red stilettos.

The sensory overload inside the club is overwhelming, and a hazy fog begins to settle over his conscious mind. Confusion and claustrophobia are setting in, and he needs to escape.

Turning toward the back of the room, Jacob walks with purpose. He leads Shayna behind the stage and out the back door to fulfill his promise.

Head clearing as the crisp, night air hits his lungs, he is again reminded of how weak he truly is. He's fuming and would happily spit boomerang-shaped nails at himself if he thought for one second those tiny carpenter tools could cause any amount of harm to his supernatural self.

The boiling blood in Jacob's veins turns to ice as he admits to himself he hasn't gone one fucking day out of the last four years without caving to memories of Bella. The damn wolf still thinks she is theirs, thinks there is still hope, and her "I'm sorry" emails aren't helping things either.

_Shit! The email._

A low growl escapes from Jacob's chest. All this fluctuating adrenaline is starting to have an effect on him. It's draining, but if he could just get a few damn minutes of peace…

Jacob releases a sigh, acknowledging he is so tired of this struggle.

Searching for an escape from the prison of his inner turmoil, he pulls Shayna around to the dark side of the building and pushes her against the wall.

Aaah! _This_ is what he needs…

Turning to face her full on, high-voltage eye contact is held, sending electrical currents sizzling and snapping through the penetrating gaze. Jacob slowly lifts the corner of his lips into a sinister smirk as he places both hands on the wall, effectively trapping Shayna right where he wants her. He leans in, commandeering her personal space, her breathing shallow and light and flighty like a white-tailed deer aware of danger nearby but still searching for the source.

Jacob closes the gap, enveloping her in his heat, tilting his head to the side, bowing it so his breath is hitting right below her ear. His mouth hovers, never touching, but intimately assaulting her senses just the same. Seconds pass and she starts to squirm, to whimper.

"Shh," he breathes, barely audible, and she stills.

He pushes his body back enough to reclaim eye contact. Her pupils dilated and her sex dripping with need – he can smell her. Deeply inhaling a languid breath through his nose, a quiet rumble reverberates through his chest. Slowly blinking, his eyes open ablaze with fire.

With lightning-quick movement, his hand flies to the back of her head, his fingers tangle in her locks and pull down with force that's just short of painful. Forcing her face to the sky, her mouth pops open, and he is back at her ear – invading her space – staring down at her vulnerable neck. Her heart beats just shy of a heart attack and a light, dewy sheen covers her body.

Shayna is scared… but she is ready to please.

Jacob has learned _this_ is what they all want from him. No longer an inexperienced teen overloaded on testosterone, he can take his time.

He can make them beg.

They crave this dark, bad boy, and this is exactly what he delivers.

"Show me," he demands, voice low and primal. Shayna gasps, exhaling another whimper.

She's putty – he has her _exactly_ where he wants her.

Straightening to his full height, he looks down into her wide, glistening eyes. Staring up at him, her pulse races as he forces her to meet his intense stare. His smirk is back, his eyebrow raised – suggestively, questioningly – even though he knows the answer.

Pushing with the hand locked in her hair, he forces her gaze to slowly travel down his body – past his neck... over his chest... down his stomach... stopping on his throbbing dick imprisoned behind the zipper of his cargo shorts.

He lightly squeezes the fist that is trapped in her tresses – just to give her a little more tension. Just so she's sure of who's in control here.

"Please," she begs, a moaning, quivering mess as she reaches out in an attempt to free him from the confines of his clothing.

"Nuh, uh, uh…" Jacob tsks, pulling her head back up.

Slight confusion momentarily passes through her unfocused eyes as she freezes. He is playing with her, teasing her, just to prolong his pleasure.

Shayna looks into his eyes – asking permission, requesting to move – and Jacob's smirk deepens in dark appreciation because she is _so_ good at doing what she's told.

"Good girl." His approval beckons a tentative smile to pull at her mismatched lips.

_Oh, fuck! That mouth…_

Releasing her hair, he places both palms against the wall above her head. "On your knees."

Shayna drops to the ground and starts pulling down his zipper. She's eager, hungry; this is going to be good.

Biting his lip and closing his eyes, Jacob readies himself for the greedy assault that will be played out just below his hips. His anticipation of the give and take her mouth will perform – of the release it will cause, of the peace it will secure for him – is slowly unlocking the chains of composure that constantly entraps his emotions. It allows Jacob to be open and vulnerable in the only way he knows how. He's letting her try, in her own way, to help him. If only for a few solitary seconds, she's affording him a safe place to fall, and for this, he appreciates her service all the more.

This realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and he is glad there is something strong and stable to support his weight… for once.

Shayna's warm, wet mouth envelopes his dick and shocks him back to life.

Jacob quickly intakes a sharp breath of cool, night air through gritted teeth, and he lets out a slow "Uhhh," on the exhale.

She pulls back and looks up to him with arrogant, challenging eyes full of intended seduction and a hushed giggle.

"No, no," Jacob whispers, reprimanding her with focused need blazing through his eyes. He places a hand on the back of her head, forcing her face down, demanding she return to her duty.

Shayna obeys without pause, just like he knew she would.

Slowly, she claims him with her willing mouth.

Groaning , he throws his head back and tilts his pelvis forward, forcing himself deeper into her throat until she's taken as much of him as she can handle.

He stills, the tip of his head pushing against the back of her throat. "Oh God, yeahhh."

Shayna starts sliding him in and out, using her lips to run pressure up and down along his length. She starts slow and sensual, using tongue swirls and moans intended to vibrate through his cock. She leisurely builds the pace, getting faster and more aggressive, one stroke at a time.

Jacob's mind goes blank. Nothing exists but his growing pleasure and the sensations that are wrapped around his dick. These are the first hints of the peace that will soon come.

As Shayna gets more turned on, she suddenly pulls her lips back and bares her teeth. Nipping at his dick, this mix of pleasure and pain is what he's been waiting for. He squeezes his eyes closed and starts to ride her mouth, matching her feral pace.

"Open wide, baby," he demands and she, always eager to please, obeys – just tongue and throat caressing his cock as he rams himself into her gaping jaw. Oh, God, this is exactly what he likes.

He grunts out approval. "Fuck… Yeah... Take… It..." Each word is punctuated with its very own hip thrust designed to force his body deeper inside her hungry mouth.

A low growl builds in his chest as he flashes canines and clamps his teeth.

Opening his eyes, Jacob is compelled to look down and watch Shayna work, begging him to let go, to release his inhibitions and reward her with his seed. Her arousal reaches up and slaps him in the face, and he's momentarily thrown off balance. Delusion sets in as her blonde hair darkens to a shade of deep mahogany, her skin lightens to creamy beige, and her red nails turn natural. Jacob clamps his eyes closed to shake this hallucination threatening to permanently burn its impression onto his retinas, and he fights hard for control. He _knows_ Shayna is gazing up at him, keeping time with his still-pumping hips, but the temptation to replace her with the dark-haired illusion is overwhelming.

He's close; she knows it from experience. And because he prefers to look into her eyes as he dominates her mouth and hammers the back of her throat, he forces his lids open.

Silently begging for control over his fantasy-driven mind, he locks eyes with her.

The big, brown eyes staring back at him… Are. Not. Shayna's.

"Shit!" Unable to hold back the internal craving and desire those eyes have thrust upon him – those eyes that have forced him to witness and to acknowledge – he cums violently, bursts of pleasure exploding out of his body and sending tingling shockwaves up his spine.

Before the lunge of his hips can send the back of Shayna's head crashing into the brick wall, he grabs the sides of her face with both hands and holds her firmly, paused and waiting, until his body stills and he regains control of his mind.

Stoically reclaiming his composure, he slowly pulls back from her and adjusts himself back into his shorts.

She stands up and smugly smiles at him, proud of herself and what she's done. "I think that was a record," she whispers.

Zipping his fly and basking in the afterglow of peace, Jacob lets out a guttural growl and slaps her ass as she releases a set of school-girl giggles.

Shayna turns to go back to the club, walking toward the rear of the building along the same path they took to arrive at this location. A couple of steps in, she pauses and looks over her shoulder, a single eyebrow raised in question as she waits for him to join her.

Jacob slowly shakes his head from side to side, and he thinks he sees disappointment flash through her eyes.

She gives him a little shrug and a flirty wave before continuing on her course. Shayna knows what this is, she always has. They are both too fucked up for anything more; hell, Jacob will _**always **_be too fucked up for anything more.

Heading back to the gravel lot and his waiting car, his traitorous mind once again conjures up images of the unread email. Suddenly, the phone is burning a hole in his pocket and his fingers are itching to swipe through the prompts and release the message.

He makes it to his vehicle before he gives in, and even as he lowers his body into the car, he has his phone out and the app open.

Deciding to just bite the bullet and plow through all this stupid trepidation, he pulls up the folder labeled "Bella" and taps on the email before reason has a chance to set in.

Frozen, he stares at the message in disbelief.

.

From: Bella Swan

To: Jacob Black

Sent: Saturday, September 21, 2013; 10:57 PM

Subject: I'm Here

Hi.

I'm in Forks. I'm staying at Charlie's.

Jake, I'm not leaving you this time.

-Bella

.

Jacob tosses the phone into the passenger seat like it's made of fire.

His throat tightens and his chest constricts as he tries to force air into his struggling lungs. He feels his emotions fighting to get to the surface, clawing and biting and snarling in their ascent; they are ugly and full of pain and shame, and he doesn't want to acknowledge their presence.

Desperate to relinquish control to the wolf, but scared that the beast may deliver his battered and naked body on her doorstep, he is paralyzed in a white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel.

Indecision is never a good thing. It gets people killed. So, Jacob rips off his shirt even as he is still deciding on what to do. Relying on his strength as a man, as an Alpha, he will give in to the wolf. He will guide the it north, and he will not allow the beast to alter its course.

Slamming the car door and running toward the surrounding woods, Jacob initiates the change just inside the tree line. In two strides, he is running on four paws.

He is running…

Running to escape the agony, running to escape the fear, and running to escape the small, brown-eyed girl that could easily kill him with the right words.

* * *

* _Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna._ ;-)


	3. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:**_ Well, here we are! I want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, and most of all _'feeling'_ Dark Matter. From the reviews, it looks like this may be the chapter many of you are curious about. I'm very excited to share this one with you, so let me know if I've hit the mark (if you want – it is _always_ if you want).

* Chapter 2, like Chapter 1, is available early! Quite honestly, I'm testing the waters to see if Sunday postings work better or worse than Tuesday postings. Please consider this an anomaly while I continue to feel things out. *

_Reminder:_ These are fictional characters, not role models… but you guys know this already!

_Okay, here we go!_

* * *

_**Suggested Listening:**__ "Monster" by Skillet (1st __half) & "Red" by Carlie de Boer (2nd half)_

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

_**Now**__ she's back?_

He splays his hands across the cold, ceramic tiles of the counter, resting them on each side of the sink. Looking in the mirror, Jacob locks eyes with the demon painted on his chest, just above his heart.

_Fucking wolf!_

The pitch black eyes of the beast stare back at the man with the unfathomable power of a black hole. The dark void holding Jacob's gaze is all consuming, and the magnitude of the pull is too great for a mere man to resist.

_Hate!_

It's part of him – this beast crawling under his skin, twisting his insides and forcing screams from his gut. It clamps down on his throat, taking over and drowning him out, making him forget how to breathe.

_**She**__ made this!?_

Yessss…

He disengages from those possessive eyes and allows his gaze to drift down the crinkled snout, over the exposed canines, through the black bands of fur forever tethering the beast to the man's body.

_The wolf is ugly; the wolf is fierce… the wolf is __fucking__ beautiful._

The thick, tribal lines of ink from its head stretch over Jacob's shoulder and slither down his bicep. The dark, loosely-woven rows of hair spread from its jowls to follow the road map of the man's ribcage, grazing the side of his stomach and wrapping around his torso.

One side of the Alpha's chest is clean. One side is not.

Reaching out in search of the girl on his back, these greedy, black tentacles yearn to snare her and pull her into the depths where the man lives… _alone_.

_Must protect her!_

His eyes pass over the printed word nestled between his ribs – the word that describes his soul: _Chitakíd·o._

_It's a killer._

Yes. **He.** Is.

_All the blood…_

Years of demeaning guilt and debasement, years of downward spirals, years of war and death and hell he had to endure alone…

Forcefully pushing his palms off the counter and bringing them to his temples, he drives the thought from his mind before it completes and takes root. This road is a dangerous one to travel, full of uneven cracks and sinkholes.

Without warning, the hairs on his neck snap to attention, and he is on edge – too tense. A switch flips and he doesn't have full control of his body.

Jacob is _not_ okay with this.

Confusion screeches through his mind, desperately trying to identify what his feral instincts are reacting to.

Something's coming...

It's coming...

_She's _coming!

_**Fuck!**_

The imprint starts to tingle along its boundaries. It comes alive and begins to stretch out its rigid fingers. Rousing from its vegetative state, the movement stings and burns; the sizzling sharpness penetrating Jacob's heart takes his breath away and knocks him down to battered knees.

_Inhale…_

_Exhale…_

… _..._

_Again... ...DO IT AGAIN!_

Grabbing his chest, he tries to hold the last trace of air in his lungs. A heavy hand pushes against caramel skin, flesh turning pallid beneath his palm. Jacob is momentarily stunned, his fingers frozen, knowing one slight slip will allow the remaining oxygen to seep from the gash left by the awakening bond's serrated blade.

_Fucking agony._

He's got to move. He can't let her find him like this.

Gripping the edge of the sink and using the counter to support his weight, he pulls his crippled body from the floor. Still clutching his chest, he rams the door with his shoulder, falling out of the bathroom with all the grace of a drunken stupor. Hitting the sheet rock, sliding down the wall, he lands flat on his ass. Jacob reaches over, clawing the hardwood floor in a desperate attempt to gain traction as he scrambles toward his bedroom. His thoughts tumble over and over in his mind, loud and clunky and unable to be ignored.

_Cover your body; get out of the house; don't let her see…_

_Cover your body; get out of the house; don't let her see…_

He's on a mission. Focusing _only_ on the present task, he pushes the electrocuting pain of the awakening imprint back into the recesses of his subconscious where it will lie in wait – edgy and tense and ready to pounce.

Barging into his bedroom, he frantically scans the area, eyes whipping back and forth in search of shorts… jeans… _anything_ to cover his body. Reaching toward the pile on the floor, he impulsively snaps his hand around the first piece of fabric to graze his palm.

Rough, frayed, metal… jean shorts.

Nerves on high alert, the muscles twitch just beneath his skin, but he is quickly regaining control. In one fluid movement, he flicks his wrist and the clothing submits to his will. Sliding into the shorts, he hesitates...

A new sound… _No!_ An old sound. Her truck!

Shit. He was distracted – she's only four miles out. She's on the Rez.

_MOVE!_

He zips the fly – no time for buttons. His agitation starts to rise with the low, rolling boil of blood. The syncopated rhythm of his pulse beats stronger, his heart pumps faster, his veins push harder... muscles tense, breathing light...

_Fight or flight? _

_FLIGHT!_

Jacob's gaze thrashes around the room; he needs a faster way out. Open window, shades drawn. ESCAPE!

_Cover your body; don't let her see…_

Dark gray shirt on the bed.

_**GO!**_

Running toward the window, he grabs the t-shirt by the collar. Dropping to a low crouch and pushing off the floor, his frame elongates. Focus trained on the square cut-out three feet above the baseboard, the dive starts. Arms stretched in front of his body, shirt still clutched tightly, he glides through the opening.

Shit, yeah! Parkour!

Landing in a roll on the soggy ground, he continues. Never stopping, never pausing, he sprints to the woods. Slipping the shirt over his head, he reaches the treeline fully clothed, sans shoes.

Jacob comes to an abrupt stop a few yards into the forest. Hidden in the shadows and turning back toward his small, blue, clapboard house, he waits for her truck to pull onto the secluded, gravel driveway.

Breathing labored, stomach knotted, colors so bright he has to squint…

Soft wind drags daggers over his too-sensitive skin…

Mossy aroma, exceedingly intense, permeates his surroundings…

Everything is heightened…

Except his sense of sound.

He can only hear the blood rushing through his ears…

Until he can't.

No noise. Period.

Dead silence and everything stills.

A slow motion haze drops over him as thoughts thicken and stick together. He can't decipher anything…

Nothing is making sense.

… … …

Without warning, it all comes crashing back. His body is alive with sharp, piercing pain – every nerve ending on fire, zinging and snapping with its very own electric current as her truck comes into view.

_Bella!_

Heeling over in a violent spasm, he plants his hand on the closest tree and leans his full weight into the trunk for support.

He looks up to watch her every move; he _has _to know what she's doing.

Stopping her truck halfway down the drive, she sits. With a furrowed brow, she obsessively chews on her lip, hands locked in a death grip on the steering wheel. All her attention is riveted on the front door of his house.

The beast purrs in Jacob's chest and her head immediately whips toward him. Fear prickles his scalp. Ice, cold chills run down his back. He holds his breath, afraid to move.

It's been so long – too long – and Jacob is fighting the urge to run deeper into the woods.

No.

He is fighting the urge to run straight to her.

The only compromise is to stay exactly where he is, pushed up against the tree, lurking in the darkness.

Stalking her…

Counting each of her breaths.

_You sick shit!_

Slowly she looks back toward the house, shaking her head as if to clear her mind. Pressing two fingers to the middle of her forehead, she closes her eyes, puffing out an exhale before maneuvering to exit the truck.

Stepping out of the cabin, the wind rushes by her, whipping her long, dark hair around her delicate neck and carrying her scent straight to Jacob's nostrils.

The creamy aroma of hazelnut, chased with traces of sweet vanilla and floating on a bed of strawberries, is intoxicating. For a moment, he forgets the last four years ever existed. He can hear her soft moans – the murmurs his kisses coax from her lips. Running his hands over her curves, he lays her body down in his bed…

_**NO! YOU are **__**NOT**__** enough!**_

Reality screams, jerking him _hard_ out of his reverie.

Sucking in a violent breath as an eruption of lava incinerates his veins, he slowly rolls his body up to full height.

Anger strengthens him.

Fear weakens him.

And right now?

He. Is. Pissed.

...

Why the hell is she here?

_You know why, you dumb fuck._

Yeah. Pity. Guilt.

_Fucking, self-righteous bi…_

_**STOP!**_

Teeth grit, nostrils flair, chest heaves…

Fists tight, muscles tense…

Satan himself peers through Jacob's eyes and paints the scenery red.

Pure. Unadulterated. RAGE!

_Hate!_

This time, the wolf is the one shrinking in the corner – whimpering, sniveling, begging for mercy.

_Weak_.

She's moving.

Jacob's trenchant focus jumps back to Bella. Cocking his head, he breathes deeply through his nose in an attempt to control his anger because he can't lose his shit – not here and definitely not now. She's too close.

Slowly, tentatively, she creeps down the gravel drive, making her way to his front door.

She's nervous.

He can see the tremors running down her arms and through her fingers. Rubbing her palms on her jeans, she's trying to occupy her hands and relieve her anxiety.

He can tell.

He can hear her racing heart – he can smell her fear.

The protective instinct ingrained into the imprint bond charges the wolf, and _it_ is no longer hiding.

It is no longer cowering.

It is rising up off its haunches, and it will soon challenge the man for control. Jacob knows this from experience. Jacob readies himself for the assault.

He edges around the perimeter of the house, using the shadows of the thick trees as cover, never losing sight of her when she walks up the front steps of the porch.

She's poised with her hand in a fist only inches from the door, ready to rap her knuckles on the wood. Hesitant and waiting, she breathes deep – once, twice – before closing her eyes and letting her knock hit hard against the door.

Hugging herself, she turns toward her truck and locks her assessing gaze on his car parked haphazardly in the driveway. She is waiting patiently.

Jacob can see her face, her lips, her teeth as they bite down on fleshy fullness. Her eyes – the color of dark honey – shed a single tear that tracks down Bella's cheek and drops off her chin, leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

He can feel the built up anxiety coming off her in waves, and for all the injustice and all the pain, he seethes.

It wasn't supposed to be like this...

But she wasn't supposed to leave.

_Worthless… Pathetic… Hate._

Feeling anger bubbling to the surface, the wolf growls. _It_ is threatening Jacob, and this time it will win.

The man is too crippled to fight.

The beast is on him, forcing his body to submit. He can feel its heavy power, and he folds under the weight.

_It_ has control, but the man's shape will remain – at least Jacob can hold on to some semblance of dominance.

It looks at the girl in longing as appreciation and desire flood through the shared body. The man is aware, but his influence is precarious at best.

_Perfection. Beauty._

She bows her head and it jerks the man's body to rest against the trunk of the next tree. It has to see her.

It _needs_ this.

She moves to the top porch step and simply sits, leaning her shoulder into the wooden railing and dropping her head to the side to lie on the coarse, weathered material.

And while she waits, she _hurts_.

Unable to bear the despondency of its imprint and disregarding the desolation of the man, the wolf lurches and the body moves to its will. The muscles, bones, and flesh sprint across the yard, careening toward the side of the porch, just outside of her periphery.

Jacob starts to come alive. The beast can't be trusted. The man must fight _**now**_**.**

Clawing his way from the depths of his subconscious, the man plots to overthrow the beast.

_Protect the girl._

An internal struggle rivaling any civil war ensues as Jacob pounds his fists into the wolf's pelt. The beast tumbles in the man's torso and lacerates his heart. Shored-up pain bleeds into decimated lungs, his chest gurgling with the crimson flow. The wolf takes advantage of the man's weakened state and pounces, pinning down his shoulders with massive paws, thick drool dripping down his collar. Teeth, poised like blades, lock inches from his neck in a premonition of death.

The girl has not yet noticed the man running across the lawn. As Jacob's body moves closer to where she sits on the step, the will to fight surges through him.

_Protect the girl._

Jacob wraps his legs tight around the beast's middle, just under its ribcage. Locking ankles above its back, he jerks down hard, cracking its spine and causing a whimper to escape its muzzle. Jacob twists his hips and throws the limp animal to the side like a ragdoll. Rising up, the man stalks toward his debilitated prey. Kneeling behind the lame body, he firmly fastens his arms around its massive head as the wolf's spirit relents to Jacob's power.

_**He**_ is back, and as his body leaps over the railing and lands with a soft thud behind her – as she turns and lock eyes with the man – Jacob regains control.

A deep growl reverberates in his chest, and the beast skulks back into the catacomb of his consciousness.

Pupils dilated, eyes wide, blood ripping through her veins, she jumps from the step. Startled, she loses her balance and stumbles back. The hood of his classic car catches her fall.

He merely watches.

Never allowing his heated gaze to waver from the frozen fear glistening in her eyes, he slowly prowls to the steps. Cocking his head to the side, his slinking movements are closer to the animal – closer to the predator – than to the human.

Her breathing nearly vanishes from her chest. Her instincts leave her edgy, and she is ready to take flight.

He is a hunter. He can read her.

She stands just a few feet away, and he is on fire inside.

He can feel the edges of his soul burn. He can see the flames in the periphery of his awareness, and as it blackens, he can smell the acrid smoke. Some part of him fears he may actually choke on the thick, noxious vapor.

So he stops.

_This_ is as close as he can get. She will destroy him if he doesn't keep distance between them.

Lowering his body to the step, he occupies the space she vacated seconds ago. He lounges back, stretching his legs and resting his elbows on the long planks lining the porch floor.

He can still feel the warmth her body left in the wood.

_You sick fuck!_

Understanding the truth residing behind that pervasive thought, he smirks. Nevertheless, he lets her think the sour twist of his lips is for her benefit.

"Hi, Bell-_ah_."

She puffs out a burst of stale air and an abrupt whimper rides its current, escaping through parted lips.

A crease develops between her brows. She swallows thickly, struggling to form coherent words from the strangled sounds catching in her throat.

Jacob's concern for Bella is overwhelming, but his body is still searing with pain and he can't bear to move. In an attempt to help her breathe, he releases her from the penetrating stare.

Forcing emotions to hide behind a deadened mask, void of all expression, he slowly studies every inch of her body, waiting for her to speak.

Letting his gaze slide along her vulnerable neck where her pulse is slamming against the thin skin... he aches. As his vision roams over her round, pert breast and down her flat stomach toward the swell of her feminine hips, momentarily resting on the heat of her sex... he burns. Still searching in his descent, he grazes her slender thighs and lean calves... and he craves. He _knows_ this body. He _wants_ this body, and he remembers every... single... curve. He can see them through her worn jeans and the olive green t-shirt hidden under the unbuttoned flannel that sets off the warm hues in her eyes. He appreciates how her clothes cling to her skin, giving nothing away, yet he sees it all.

He _always_ sees all of her.

On his ascent back up her perfect body, he is tempted to reach out and grab her. It would be so easy; she's within his grasp.

But she is his only addiction. She is a drug that he'll never shake, a siren that calls to him every _single_ second of every _fucking_ day.

But she _will_ kill him if he gets too close.

She's a runner. She can't be trusted.

Flaring his nostrils and hardening his resolve, he fights her pull.

Meeting her gaze, he repaints a sneer upon his lips – a sneer that does _not_ reach his unyielding eyes.

"Speak."

It was a command, not a request.

She releases a breathy sound that means nothing to him – a sound that he refuses to _let_ mean something to him.

"What do you want, _girl_?"

The shards of ice sharpening his tone force her out of her trance and skewer complex emotions onto her face. Dread, confusion, and hurt culminate to crumble her features in a mess of conflicting disorientation, and the thin veil of her resolve slips from her grasp. With tears pooling in her eyes, his name tumbles from her mouth.

"Jake?"

The soothing melody of her voice hums through his ears.

Heart stuttering, lids snapping closed, he fights the stinging sensation assaulting his eyes.

_Weak._

He is a warrior. This cannot happen. No sign of _weakness_.

Period.

He was only lost for a second, but that was long enough to prove she_ is_ the death of him – to prove she _will_ destroy him.

Pissed at himself for exposing his frailty, he opens his eyes and stares daggers into her tortured expression.

"I… I'm sorry, Jake. I can… I want to… Jake, please… I want to try."

Her words are barely a whisper. A tear escapes the clutch of her lashes and rolls down her cheek.

"Try _what_?" The corrosive acid eating his heart bleeds from his mouth with the delivery of these two words.

"Try us," she confesses.

The vulnerability exposed by the truth held in the statement forces her gaze to settle on her interlocked and fidgeting fingers.

_Fuck! This hurts!_

"No."

Her head jerks up, locking her wounded stare with his. Unspoken words running behind her eyes, she is pleading with him to accept her. She's struggling to hold herself together and shivers run up her body... but she is not hiding any of this.

She is open.

Her soul is laid before him, and she's asking him to keep it, to care for it, to heal it.

God, she's begging him.

Images of the day she left flash through his mind – of the time he wordlessly pleaded with her to stay, of the time she said no. He learned then begging doesn't work. That was the _last_ time he made that mistake.

_Fuck this!_

"**No!"**

This is not open for discussion.

Her features are set. Wide eyes, lips parted, she sucks in a shattered breath. The shock painted on her face is shoring up the pain running just beneath the surface.

But her frozen mask quickly cracks, allowing the agony to seep through the fissures.

She uses abrupt motions to push off his car and pace across the gravel, running one hand through her hair, chewing on the thumbnail of the other.

Pausing with her back to him, he watches her shoulders heave, taking in a deep breath.

What right does she have? She gave him _this_ – this pathetic, wounded, fucked up existence. She left and ripped him in two, splitting his body and soul without looking back. She was _his_, and he... was... good. So good back then.

He was able to _love_ back then.

He was able to _give_ back then. He could have healed her – he could have healed them both if she would have stayed.

But she didn't.

What right does she have to come back and expect him to be something _other_ than this? Other than what he is? Other than what she offered him?

This thought turns him to cold stone as she returns to lean against the hood of his car. Crossing her arms and obviously gathering courage to speak, she raises her eyes to look directly at him. With confidence and determination hardening her features, she's chosen a different approach.

_This should be interesting._

"I've been in Jacksonville."

He had known where she was. He had _always_ known where she was. Every day of every year that passed, she had been in _Jacksonville_ – with her mother, with her stepdad, with… others.

But his mask gives nothing away. He has become good at concealment. This deceit is a necessary evil in his life now.

It is a killing game Jacob is involved in, and _this_ is no exception. Some things have to end in order for others to flourish. That's just the way all this shit plays out.

Accept it, feed on it, live with it... or **die** without it.

"I went to college… I umm… majored in journalism… uhh…"

No response. She'll quit soon. He _knows_ her. She's a runner.

Her resolve is wavering.

But God, how he wants her to keep talking. Her voice is slowly satiating the ache in his chest.

Realizing this tactic is getting her nowhere, she lets out a heavy sigh and scans the surroundings.

_Don't stop... not yet._

Her eyes jump back to him, almost in response to this tangent thought, and he is momentarily stunned. She flitters her gaze down his body, locking on something he does not immediately comprehend.

"When did you get that?"

Following the path of her vision, ending on the side of his calf, she is scrutinizing his tattoo. An earlier piece – the only one visible right now.

_Oh, yes..._

Displaying the smugness across his lips, he is pleased with what she's found. He slowly lifts his head – eyes following like an afterthought, retracing the path to her worried expression – and he replies without emotion.

"A year after you left... when I was still weak."

She quickly jerks her attention back to his cold, assessing stare, the concern further deepening the lines between her brows.

Clearing her throat, she whispers, "When you were weak?"

Caught in a battle of wills, each daring the other to look away first, Jacob remembers lying on Coda's table when his skin was inked with the tribal rendering of a yin-yang framed by a protective sun. The dark wolf and the light woman locked in an eternal struggle, each trying to engulf the other but always giving up a little of themselves in the process. It's the never-ending chase and retreat in which neither wins and neither loses. This perfect semblance of balance was permanently stamped on Jacob's leg all those years ago, yet it is still as elusive now with Bella standing in front of him as it was back then.

Cocking his head to the side in that lupine way that causes sharp, cold fear to instinctively streak up the spines of humans, Jacob deepens his smirk.

He displays a scarcely veiled threat.

"I still wanted you then."

The punch of his words forces the air from her lungs, and she gasps for a resuscitating breath.

Her eyes brim with tears as he watches the pain of rejection carve into her flawless features.

The wolf is pissed, and Jacob fears he will pay for this treachery because the beast cannot be tamed.

Yet the man will welcome the torment.

_Shit! This hurts so __fucking__ much!_

Her bottom lip is quivering, but she is still trying to connect. She looks to him, ready for another round, and he pities her persistence. This will only end badly. There is no other way for him now.

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat and slapping at her eyes, she tries in vain to close the virtual gap.

"So... there's the tattoo on your leg." Concentration wrinkles her brow.

"And then the one on your shoulder." She looks to his arm where the referenced ink hides just beneath the sleeve.

"From when you…" She clears her throat.

She's not sure of which word to use...

"Changed."

_**That**__ would be it._

Air bursts through Jacob's nostrils in a flash of annoyance, and a cryptic laugh curls his lips. "You could say that."

The beast claws inside the man's chest, fracturing ribs and slashing organs as confusion clouds her eyes and contracts her beautiful face. "Umm… I…"

"Just. _Leave. _ Bell-_ah_." He cuts her off and twists the end of her name like it is the vile and dirty blade she thrust into his heart four years ago.

Stepping forward, she lifts her arm toward him. She's desperate, and desperation is never a good state for prey to be in – at least not for the quarry.

"Jake, please… do you remember the last words I said to you?"

_I love you, Jake…_

His jaw flexes, clenched and grinding teeth hidden behind slack lips. His trenchant gaze jumps to her, and a private growl reverberates through his body.

Raising his upper lip in a severe snarl, his harsh message hits her like a hammer hell-bent on nailing down the lid of her coffin.

"**Don't." **

The shocking force of the unshakable determination infused in this single word literally pushes her body against the front end of his pristine 'Cuda and leaves her expression twisted in agony… again.

Internally, he burns with her in solidarity while externally, he gives nothing away.

A shrill, piercing noise suddenly attacks his ears. Tilting his head in curiosity, he realizes the cell phone he left next to his bed is ringing. The alerting tone has been programmed for Sam.

_Shit._

Bella doesn't hear a thing. She is not reacting. She is still pinned against the hood of his car, frozen in her grief.

Staring at her a moment longer, his eyes desperately clinging to every last drop of her perfection, he forces himself to slowly stand and turn his back on her fragile body.

Without another word – without a backward glance, without acknowledgement of any kind – he walks into his house and closes the front door on Bella.

On his past.

The incessant ringing is beckoning him from down the hall. His must keep his focus – keep moving – if he has any hope of making it through this day alive.

Reaching his phone, he plucks it from the nightstand and sits on the edge of his bed. Tapping the smooth, glass face, he answers, **"What!"**

It wasn't a question.

"You gotta get over here now. Leah's gonna kill him."

"Handle it, _Sam_."

"I tried. I'm sorry… I know… but I'm not the Alpha."

"Shit."

Abruptly cutting the connection, Jacob scans the room for shoes. Eyeing a pair of black combat boots, he grabs them, quickly sliding in his feet. Fuck lacing them up; he'll probably need to remove them just as fast.

Walking back to the living room and grabbing the keys off the small table beside the couch, he still feels the scorching burn of her presence.

She hasn't left yet.

_Motherfucker!_

With his hand hovering above the doorknob, he sucks in a breath and rolls his shoulders.

_Protection. Armor._

Violently exhaling, he opens the door and steps back into the flames.

She has moved. She's no longer against his car. She is slowly walking back to her truck.

Her betrayal cuts deep, even now, and a small part of him bleeds as he realizes she has given up on him…

Again.

He tries to bury all that painful shit under the cover of martyrdom, but he is not that good. He is inherently human after all, and he is full of greed and selfishness.

A large part of him wants her to take away his agony and suffering, take away all this goddamn torment. A large part of him wants her to keep trying until her soul hemorrhages _with_ his.

Make no mistake, he is not that good. He is no fucking martyr.

Slamming the door, he just needs her to look. He just needs to see her face one last time, but her answering gaze is not met with adoration or longing. And he knows she cannot decipher his hardened mask of indifference.

He is a master of deception. He has had four years of practice.

Holding her stare, he jogs down the steps and walks around his car. Jerking the door open, he slides in behind the wheel and rams the key in the ignition. He cranks the car hard and as the engine roars to life, the same Godsmack CD from last night blares through the speakers. Thrusting the 'Cuda into reverse and turning the wheel, he guns the hotrod and pops the emergency brake. The tires spin in the gravel and the machine rockets back – drifting 180 degrees – suddenly facing her old truck head on.

Standing next to the driver's door of her red Chevy, she stares. She looks like she's seen Hell itself. Wounded and hurt, silent tears are streaming down her face. Bella has stopped trying to hide her emotions; she doesn't even attempt to wipe away the salty rivulets now. Frozen and slightly hunched with her arms wrapped around her middle, she looks… numb.

She looks... dead inside.

_Stop… please._

He lifts the corner of his lip in mockery of his own pathetic weakness as he releases the brake and stomps hard on the gas. The car fishtails around her and screams down the driveway. Looking in the rearview mirror, he sees reflection of her shape crumple against the truck. She is alone and desolate outside of his house.

And he is a monster.

_Loathe… you._

Jacob turns onto the dirt road connecting his secluded tract of land to the rest of the Rez and heads toward Sam's. He could have made better time using the wolf, but he needs every extra second the car affords him along the six-point-one mile drive to bury all his emotional shit under six feet of crumbled earth.

Before he even makes it around the first curve of the road, his sensitive ears are assaulted with the yells of every member of his pack as they try to intervene between the silver and gray wolves. He's still more than five miles out, and there's a lot of anxiety, confusion, and anger he is forced to endure while traversing the winding backroads.

The pack's aggression is leaking into the man through the bond of the Alpha, and Jacob's blood is boiling because Sam should be able to handle this shit.

He just wants to be left alone. He can't fix his own crap. He can't hold anyone else together.

_This _is why he chooses to live so far from everyone – to live in seclusion like some damn hermit. It's all too loud, too noisy. There's never any fucking peace. And he's just _so_ tired...

Slowly, as the inches between Jacob and his imprint grow, the scorching sting of _that _connection lessens until he is left with a dull, throbbing ache deep in the middle of his chest – the same familiar pain he has held onto for the past four years.

He is pissed, and he is hurt. And he is a dominant fuck. That volatile combination is just a ticking timebomb.

_Somebody_ is going to pay.

Speeding his car down the straight quarter-mile stretch of compacted dirt marking the midway point between his house and his second's home, the ranting from most of the pack finally ceases. They sense his presence closing in, but the two wolves are still fighting, completely oblivious of their Alpha's intense pull.

Insubordination angers the beast _and_ the man. It is a blatant disregard of his authority, and it will **not** be tolerated under any circumstances.

Rounding the final curve, he turns hard into the Uley driveway and skids to stop, his tires kicking up a thick cloud of gravel like an aggressive dust storm taking over a barren desert.

Jacob scans the scene. The pack is scattered around the yard, no imprints in sight.

But the tingling sensation runs up his spine and the ugly stench of contentment rides the currents of air flowing from the house…

The imprints are near.

Stepping out of the car, every pair of eyes suddenly drops to study random spots on the ground. The thick skin of all seven exposed necks barely conceals the jumping syncopated rhythm of their pulsing carotid arteries.

This is the manner in which they should greet their Alpha, and they all do so obediently – except the silver and gray wolves violently tumbling on the lawn, crashing together like the thundering, dark clouds that turn midday skies as black as midnight.

The gray wolf suddenly flattens its ears. Dropping to its belly, it attempts to shimmy away from the smaller beast. Whining, eyes thrashing back and forth between its intimidating Alpha and its aggressive attacker, it retreats on tense haunches.

The silver wolf is unperturbed in its charge, constantly pouncing and lashing out with a chomping jaw and ferocious snarls. Latching onto the gray beast's leg, causing a piercing yelp to escape its dark muzzle, the smaller animal draws back with bloody spittle hanging from its bared and razored teeth.

Jacob rounds the front of his car and walks directly toward the silver wolf. He will deal with this beast first.

Silently coming up behind Leah's snarling form, his presence is announced with a deep growling reprimand far too primitive to be made by a mere mortal.

The silver animal freezes in a pre-lunge stance, looking over its shoulder to take in the Alpha's expressionless stare. The only hint of the terrifying anger bubbling just beneath the surface is the golden shimmer dancing in the man's eyes.

As the small wolf watches, trepidation evident in the arch of its brows, a sinister sneer forms on Jacob's lips.

The fear radiating off its pelt is thick and palpable, and he can almost see the outline of the dank vapors.

His smirk deepens and a flood of intoxicating adrenaline shoots a revolting mix of excitement and anticipation through his veins.

Part of him is going to enjoy this...

A _larger_ part of him than he wants to admit.

The conflicting emotions playing out in the silver wolf's eyes are obvious. With telltale quick glances toward the gray animal cowering near the treeline, it is frantic to retreat from its stalking Alpha, but the damn bitch is frozen in fear.

Jacob is part man, part beast. He hunts as the beast, but he **kills** as the man.

The pack knows this. They have witnessed it time and time again.

And right now, the silver wolf is desperate for Jacob to phase...

But that is not part of his plan.

Slowly tracking the shrinking animal before him – its large eyes darting around the peripheries of its vision without finding a safe place to rest – the wind suddenly shifts.

Blowing in from the trees – from the direction of the two wolves – new odors add to the confusing mix of scents already present in the air, and Jacob is briefly preoccupied with deciphering the meaning hidden in this ripe swirl.

_Pine, sweat, imprint, dirt, moss, fear, musk, sex, blood, seed… _

_**Seed!**_

Locking on the final scent, blind rage overtakes his dominant spirit. He backhands the silver wolf hard across the muzzle, trajecting its rumpled body across the lawn.

Crashing against the lone shed in the yard, the small beast lies forgotten. The Alpha turns on his adversary – the lethal wolf by the treeline.

With his attention diverted, Jacob is aware of Embry breaking through the frozen intensity and rushing to Leah's side. The animal is gone, a nude girl now lying unconscious in the muddy earth.

Embry is no threat. Embry is a healer. Paul's wolf is the rival.

_Charge… __**NOW!**_

Pushing from the soft dirt where his boots dig in, Jacob runs full speed toward the mess of dark fur, fueled by the Alpha _and_ the animal. He is dangerous and powerful and livid. This runaway train is unstable and threatening to jump track, and the gray wolf whines an agonizing sound, lost between deference and self-preservation.

Deciding that obedience will more likely be rewarded, the beast stills. The pummeling force of its Alpha collides into its side, and a crisp, cracking sound echoes under the canopy of trees encircling the little yellow house. Flesh and bone gives. The sickening noise is quickly muffled by a wet gurgling sound spewing from the animal's mouth.

The hovering branches catch the rattling vibrations and bounce them back and forth among the swaying leaves, the disturbing reverberations mirrored in Jacob's head.

No man's seed is allowed to spread amongst unclaimed females in the Alpha's presence. _This_ is not something new.

The gray wolf must be punished.

Rearing back, the man thrusts the heel of his palm into the beast's side and twists with arduous pressure.

Throwing one leg over the animal's back, he cages its massive head between his arms. His knee hovering – intending to give one final, crippling blow to its spine – Jacob pauses.

Suspended above his prey, ready to kill, the Alpha assesses the situation. _This_ animal is a mercenary. It is the most lethal and necessary of all the beasts.

It cannot die. Not this way.

In his periphery, he locks onto Sam's black wolf crawling across the lawn on its belly.

The stench of all the imprints by the house seems to be covering everything – including the heaving body underneath Jacob – and as his second inches closer, it becomes overwhelming and turns his stomach.

Jacob phases out of self-preservation – to keep the black wolf at a distance, to keep its odor at bay.

Shreds of clothing and rubber soles of combat boots burst from his body and blow into the neighboring treeline.

The tension twisting the gut of every pack member is infinitesimally reduced by the sight of the reddish-brown beast.

_Imprints… everywhere. Fuck!_

The Alpha snarls and thick saliva drips down the neck of the body below it.

Paul's form returns, leaving the naked man lying in the dirt. He is holding his side, trying to reinforce the deep craters caused by broken ribs.

His exhales surrender in squirts. His inhales rebel in rattles.

Jared is now advancing from the porch toward the mess of bloody victims – exactly two – but he is veering toward Paul.

Somewhat confused by the convergence of the two imprinted males, and overwhelmed by their stench, the beast retreats from the weakened body below it.

It is time to let the pack take care of their own. It is time to let them heal the wounded.

With a final, menacing growl meant to warn the rest – and to counteract any mutiny that may be forming in the minds of the young – the Alpha asserts its dominance.

All eyes are downcast and every single body stills until the rust-colored wolf turns to the woods.

Behind it, the beast hears the commotion as the debilitated prey strewn across the lawn are attended to.

The predatory instincts of the man no longer like to leave a kill breathing, but the wolf understands the order of the pack. It understands these victims are not the enemy…

A lesson the man forgot long ago.

_**Run!**_

And so he does. Lost in the beast, he runs.

* * *

* _Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna._ ;-)


	4. Chapter 3

_**MASSIVE Author's Note: **_I highly suggest you listen to the first song here – WITH headphones/earbuds if you have them. Just let the music – the mood, the lyrics, the notes – flood your mind and drown out the constant chatter of white noise in the background. Absorb its feels, live in its headspace, and breathe in its pain. I promise you it will intensify this chapter, and you will come away with an even better understanding of our tortured Alpha.

If you came to find this story via NikitaJuice's tumblr, then you are aware of the x-rated outtake coming up – if you found this fic some other way and were not aware, well... I just told you! :D **The time has come, the smut is here!**

It will immediately follow Chapter 3 – _this_ chapter – and I call the outtake Chapter 3.5. However, per the rules of FFn, I cannot post it here. Therefore, I have placed it in two locations for your viewing pleasure.

1. **Tricky Raven** – This is a membership site (completely free, btw) but you will have to give up some of your info – and you can totally use my name to get you in the door ;) I definitely recommend checking out Tricky Raven because they have tons of fics to read, and BONUS!, you are pretty much guaranteed to run into some big-name writer you've been stalking on FFn for years. Again, tell 'em I sent ya! ;)

2. **Eclipsing Sun –** This is an awesome new blog, of which I just happen to be an admin, AND we just happen to be hosting a really fun (and by "fun" I mean smut) awards. The** Twisted Pretzel Awards** are currently in the voting phase, so if you choose this option (no membership or information giving required here), then please hang out and vote for some of your faves. Your support means the world to these writers/artists, and I know they would take the time to personally thank each of you if they could.

Alright, to recap: The outtake (Chapter 3.5) can be found at either Tricky Raven or Eclipsing Sun...You guys do know how to decipher this encryption, right? LOL! But seriously, any questions, just drop me a line and I'll help ya' out as best I can.

Oh! I forgot to mention (pretty damn important too – oops!), Tricky Raven has – and will continue to have – "Dark Matter" posted in its entirety, INCLUDING the amazing banner made by NikitaJuice. At this time, Eclipsing Sun will only have the outtakes – including any and all future ones.

* Chapter 3 and Chapter 3.5 are being posted together because I have made you all wait WAY too long for an update, and I want to apologize for that. Please accept these written words as my peace offering, and **_THANK YOU!_** for continuing to stick with me! Your support means so much more than any of you will ever realize. *

_Reminder:_ These are fictional characters, not role models… do not try any of this at home!

_Okay, here we go!_

* * *

_**Suggested Listening:**__ "Slipknot" by Snuff (1st __half) & "Sunset" by The xx (2nd half)_

* * *

Chapter 3  


* * *

If anyone was watching him in that moment, they wouldn't have noticed the subtle vertical crease between his brows the squint caused, but he is pissed with himself just the same.

It shouldn't have happened. He is a warrior. No sign of weakness. Period.

Standing just inside the door, Jacob scans the crowd before him. The place is packed and damn, he doesn't want to be here.

He agreed to make an appearance out of duty… respect… whatever… but this wasn't going to be as simple as that.

Nothing ever is.

Because regardless of the bullshit he tries to sell himself on why he's here tonight, he knows. Deep down he knows the real reason he is standing in a room full of overtly horny humans and seven hyper-agitated wolves.

And imprints.

Don't forget the fucking imprints.

He huffs an aggressive breath through his nose, acknowledging the root of his most feared demons.

_Her_.

It's _always_ her. She's the reason for everything in his life, and **all** of it is bad.

She's the cause of his weakness... his hatred... his guilt... his shame... his cruelty. She siphoned his inadequacies – all the shit that gets people killed – and spit them in his face when she left. Her fucking spotlight illuminated every single one of them.

Each of his shortcomings rises to the surface with her return – not that they were buried too deep anyway.

Yeah... it feels good to blame her.

Well… it feels better than the alternative, better than the truth.

Dammit, he was good when she left! But underneath it all, he knows she saw what he would become.

A monster, unable to be trusted with her body let alone her heart.

Now that premonition is incarnate and forcing its feet to move across the wooden floor of the packed club in Port Angeles.

Fuck this damn self-reflection because, shit, he really doesn't want to be here.

A group of camouflaged wolves, towering giants with toffee skin and black hair obviously out of place in this crowd, silently part the path in front of him as he approaches. With heads bowed slightly to the side exposing vulnerable necks, his pack turns to tersely greet Jacob.

Not only can he see the tension sending subtle vibrations through their bodies, but he can _feel_ it. Their heightened stress leaves a dense, palpable musk in the air around the table.

He gives his pack a brusque nod. They all relax a tenth of a degree – not by much, but at least they can now function. Their reaction to his presence is not entirely new – or unfounded, for that matter – but it _is_ in direct response to his own state of being. They are linked to him, a life-sustaining IV involuntarily pushing Jacob's essence into their bodies. His seething anger, his raw power, his bloodlust – they all endure it.

They _all _cower.

Attempting to clear the empty bottles from the bar-height table, the server instinctively freezes, caught in the crossfire of tension. Jacob's gaze washes over her hovering hand and locks on her bright, red nails.

Images of this morning flood his mind. His grasp on the world in front of his slips and perceptions distort, dragging him into the abyss of dead memories.

_Drops of thick, congealed blood so dark they're almost black contrasted against the bright, white tiles of the counter. _

_Streaks of smeared crimson chased down the sink in pursuit of the all-consuming drain. Attempting to cover the sins they exposed, they raced to hide away._

_Ice cold dread stiffening his spine, he turned to the bathtub, hand hesitant and suspended inches from the curtain. He was frozen at the point of no return. _

_Silent screams of denial raged against the confines of his skull. Beating against the tomb of bones, he pulled back bloody knuckles that mocked him and taunted him in their desperation. _

_What had he done?_

_NO! Please, not again…_

Forcing the evocative phantoms of recent history from his mind, he focuses on the frosty, longneck bottle awaiting his arrival at the table.

Jacob props his leg on one of the accompanying chairs, leans his forearm on his thigh in a pose mimicking nonchalance, and immediately grabs the opened bottle.

Grounding himself in the scripted reality playing out before him, he openly absorbs the sensations knocking on the door of his awareness.

Beneath the roar of the music, he locks onto the obnoxious chatter overtaking the room. It is _obscene_. Every male here is searching for someone to sink their dick into tonight, and every female is pretending she isn't lusting after the same thing. The amount of exposed flesh is bulging the pants of every man, and the arousal hanging heavy in the air is overpowering. It is _disgusting_. It sours his stomach in its reckless pursuit of gratification. The greed in every single one of their intentions is bathed in revulsion.

Yes, he devours. And yes, he fucks. But not for pleasure... not for satisfaction. He fucks to release the pain, to grasp at the fleeting tendrils of peace as they escape into the ether during the climax.

Cutting through the revolting high of pheromones advertising free sex, Jacob is alerted to the extreme intensity of the imprint bonds surrounding him. Anxiety is elevated and synapses are firing. His skin is tingling in slow rolling waves, but just along its surface. This sensation doesn't reach into his core and pierce the marrow of his bones like it does when he's close to _her_.

This is not _his_ imprint.

This is _theirs_.

Realizing it doesn't feel right, confusion momentarily clouds his mind. It is too strong for only two wolves, for only two mates.

Slowly listing his head to one side and then the other, he cracks the vertebrae of his neck and assesses each of his pack with a heavy gaze.

Embry is closest and fidgety, but tonight is the first time he'll perform in front of a crowd of strangers.

_Acceptable... Expected behavior. Not strong enough._

Quil…

_Nothing… Never anything here._

Seth…

_Eager. Anxious... Still a pup._

Leah…

_Nervous. Racing pulse. Anger. Agitation. Something's off here… Discomfort? Resignation? Insecurity? … The fucker's seed is dissipating._

Heat licks up Jacob's spine and a surge of rage rides in on the flames.

He should have killed the gray wolf when he had the chance. _No one_ can spread his seed amongst the Alpha's unclaimed females, especially not another dominant male.

Still locked on Leah, a deep growl escapes from the barrel of Jacob's chest, and her eyes hit his in a knee-jerk reaction before bouncing back to the floor.

She knows what she's done. He will deal with her later.

His bipolar focus again pulls to Embry.

_Concern for the bitch... Healer. No threat._

Moving on… Paul… flanked by Jared and Sam.

_Three wolves, two dominant, two __**imprinted**__… or three?_

_Averted eyes. Bared necks. _

_Hidden... blank spaces in the void. Confusion. Something is being ferreted away. _

_Two or three? Two or fucking three?_

**Fuck!**

This goddamn bond is everywhere. Mocking him, taunting him.

_She_ is screwing with his senses, and now he can't decipher shit!

She has to leave. Her presence isn't needed anymore. She will get people killed, and he must protect. Regardless of the consequences, _this_ is his duty.

The sobriety of remorse for what he must do tonight washes over him and cools the iron mask of his exterior, this mask forged from the smoldering embers of his fiery rage. Tempered guilt over his impending actions allows a small crack in his shield, and he is suddenly struck by the pure, intoxicating scent of _her_.

It is overpowering, cutting through this heavily condensed mix of arousal, sweat, and booze, and blatantly provoking him in its allure. His body is on fire with sparks of shooting electricity assaulting every nerve ending.

The imprint bond is stirring.

The wolf is unsettled and slithering just below the surface, oily and thick and malignant. It wants her, and it won't stop plucking at the tenuous strings currently securing Jacob's composure.

He clamps down hard on the beast inside. _It_ is the only thing he can force into submission at the moment, and he _must _maintain control. This is not the place to lose his shit; these are not the people to witness that.

Jacob visually tracks the wisps of sweet strawberries coated in hazelnut and vanilla dancing on the subtle breeze being pushed through the ventilation system. His gaze comes to an abrupt stop across the room, landing on the aroma's origin and finally acknowledging Bella's presence.

Sitting next to Emily, she is near the end of the bar just outside his field of vision, forcing a slight turn of his head to keep her in sight. She's staring intently into the twirling glass of Crown and 7-Up like she's expecting it to transform into her salvation, while Emily tries to engage her in small talk – some shit about the weather, asking questions about college. It's nothing of any significance, nothing Jacob doesn't already know.

Bella's black, wide v-neck shirt hugs the slender curves of her frame and seductively offsets her fair skin. Her dark hair is gathered to one side in a low ponytail, draping down her front toward her breast. She is displaying the creamy base of her neck, and the Alpha recognizes the enticing significance of the location she chose to expose tonight. He sways Jacob's senses into reverie, but the man bucks before he completely succumbs to the spell of forgotten hope and nostalgia.

Boiling anger consumes his body, raw and tense and wild. His eyes flash golden iridescence and nostrils flare, the only outward signs of the heated struggle within.

Each of his pack jerks his head toward the bar in an abnormal display of uncanny unison – all except Leah – and Jacob hears several distinct whimpers just out of range of human hearing. He lets out a low, rumbling growl, reverberating from deep within his core, one that easily passes for part of the heavy bass pumping through the speakers near the dance floor. Mercurial heads whip back and black eyes flash toward him before dropping like hot coals to the floor. Strong necks slightly exposed, they beg forgiveness from their leader. And Jacob obliges because it has been far too long for any of them.

The swirl of feelings whipping through each of them is rapid and disorienting. Not one person – not one wolf – can fully grab hold of a single reaction before it is lost in the kaleidoscope of ever-changing views and morphing into another emotion, equal in its intensity, and just as compelling as the previous one.

Love, fear, worry, longing, sadness, empathy… _anger_... slip in through the cracks in Jacob's shield and color his perception of the situation – of Bella.

Every member of the pack is agitated and confused, and he realizes these perceptions mirror the sentiments buried deep in his heart.

He stretches his neck and forces out the tension triggered by the sight of her. That's when he notices – during all the distraction, he must have let the beer slip from his grasp. The rim of the bottle's neck is now precariously dangling between his fingers. Flipping his wrist, he grabs hold of its thick body and tilts the weak anesthetic toward his lips in a flimsy charade to cover his pathetic inadequacies.

Taking advantage of the man's distracted state, the wolf jumps with an eager yelp, and Jacob suddenly realizes he has been played. Clarity and understanding punches him with sobering fists as he acknowledges the massive beast had been too easily overcome just moments ago – the man was too preoccupied to recognize the ploy for what it was.

The fucking animal was idly biding its time, watching every action, plotting, waiting for an opportunity to revolt, to rise up.

And Jacob is pissed.

Pissed at the rebellion from the wolf, pissed at the ignorance from himself, and pissed at the betrayal from them both.

In an attempt to calm the slithering beast, Jacob arranges himself so he can covertly watch her in his periphery.

Next time, he will be more aware. Next time, the animal won't even blink until the man is ready to release it from the confines of his chest.

Puffing a quick burst of air through his nostrils, Jacob smirks at the sinister delusions plaguing his sluggish mind.

_Next time? There will be no fucking 'next time'._

The turmoil raging inside of the Alpha is silent, dark, and extremely intimate. Outwardly, it is obvious to no one except the pack. Each wolf sheathed in human skin cowers further. Slouching infinitesimally and tucking their chins, they look up through veils of lashes, muscles coiled and ready to strike.

Something catches Jacob's attention, and he jerks his trenchant focus to the bar. With lupine hearing, he is able to easily discern the bartender's tenor. Brazenly boasting to an inebriated patron about his plans to conquer some poor unsuspecting female, he pours Crown into a glass, and tops it off with an extra, unsolicited shot.

The self-assured barkeep tilts his head and lists his eyes to the left, indicating his victim. Turning with a lazy, confident swagger, his gaze locks directly on his target. Jacob follows the trail, the Alpha's vision slowly cataloging and assessing each new detail as it comes into view. Reaching the end of the bar, he lands on _her_.

The wolf bucks and snarls and gnashes its razor-sharp teeth. Jacob clamps down hard and holds the beast at bay, but his hold is precarious at best.

As the bartender slowly saunters toward his prey with drink in hand, both the man and the beast watch in fascinated horror – stuck in a slow motion time-warp like a witness to a runaway train.

"On the house." He sets off the phrase with a lingering stare and capstones it with a cocky smirk, lightly placing the glass of Crown on the bar in front of her.

This time the man revolts with the wolf, and Jacob's eyes throw four-point, ninja stars straight through the smug bastard's heart.

This shit is done. It's time to shut the bartender down.

Jacob's heated gaze severely cuts to his left, unapologetically burning a hole through the base of Sam's skull. It takes all of two seconds for the man's collar to catch fire, and the Alpha knows he has his attention.

"Go!" It is a simple request because deep down he still hates taking away someone's free will, but it is a very _compelling_ request just the same.

Casting a furtive glance in Paul's direction, Sam bolts out of his seat and takes off through the crowd, making a beeline for the bar… and Bella.

He had forgotten how intimidating his pack could be for an ordinary man. Watching the crowd part for Sam on his direct path toward the two imprints reminds Jacob of this simple fact, and a rush of pride floods his senses.

After wrapping an arm around Emily's waist and languidly inhaling the redeeming scent dispersing from her crown, Sam turns to the bartender and flashes threatening canines. The resulting fear etched on the bastard's face assures Jacob the misguided pursuit has ended.

Sam is a good second.

Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Jacob knows Bella is safe from the sinister monster doling out free alcohol, waiting for the opportunity to break through the line and rip her heart out for pleasure. At least she is safe from _that_ sinister monster, the one that isn't really a wolf in human skin.

Fuck. He doesn't want to be here.

But it's all for duty, for pack unity, for show... for Embry.

Or at least this is what he keeps telling himself.

Blushing slightly and strolling over to the table, Emily returns from the bar and slips in next to Paul, taking over Sam's post.

The Alpha doesn't miss a thing – they are not fooling anyone with this charade.

Jacob is the king of misinformation, of hidden indiscretions, of duplicity. They can't bluff the master of deception.

As if on cue, Jared's head jerks toward the back of the room where Kim is rounding the corner. She appears from the hall leading to the restrooms, and a soft whine escapes his throat, his body involuntarily twitching. He is fighting himself. He wants to escape the tension of the pack and meet his imprint in the crowd, but he is tethered to the table by duty, by a promise, by an overpowering sense of responsibility.

Yeah. Jacob feels it. Jacob knows.

He may have been too self-absorbed last week at Sam's to fully comprehend all the circumstances surrounding the fight between the two wolves, but he gets it now. One glance at Leah – the peculiar actions of the imprints, the intensity of the static electricity running up and down his skin – and Jacob has his answer.

_**It's three.**_

Fuck!

Kim walks up to the table and reaches out to graze her hand along Jared's arm, and Jacob is struck by the deep saturation of the red, glossy sheen clinging to her lips.

Vertigo sets in and the images he sees are no longer of the dimly-lit nightclub before his eyes. These new images are clear and raw. These new images are _real_.

_Staring into the blackness hovering just outside the window above the kitchen sink…_

_The sound of water rushing from the faucet and splashing into the awaiting glass…_

_The buzz of the cell phone in his pocket._

_The cup was full... the faucet shut off._

_The phone was coerced out of hiding by a quick hand and an agile thumb swiped at the glass display._

_Another email…_

_The icon, tapped without permission by a rogue finger._

_It's from her… but he already knew that._

_Deep breath… another tap… black letters plastered against the white, glowing background…_

_._

_From: Bella Swan_

_To: Jacob Black_

_Sent: Thursday, September 26, 2013; 8:32 PM_

_Subject: I'm Sorry_

_Jake,_

_I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to just show up at your house like that, but I didn't know what else to do. You won't return my emails, and I guess I understand. Things have changed… God, I'm sorry _–_ that is such a gross understatement. _

_Words are failing me. _

_I just want to make it better for you, Jake. I was selfish and stupid for leaving; I realize that __now__, but I didn't realize… I didn't realize a lot of things at the time._

_I meant it when I said I'm not leaving. I'm here, whenever you're ready… __**if**__ you are ever ready again… I'm here. _

_You waited for me long enough _–_ now it is my turn to wait for you. _

_I'll be whatever you need me to be._

_You should know Emily invited me to Embry's thing tomorrow night, but I will try to keep my distance from you. I don't want to ambush you again, but if you don't want me there, please just tell me and I won't go. _

_I just hate it's like this between us, Jake. I'm sorry I did this to us._

_I hope one day you can forgive me. I hope one day, I can forgive myself._

_-Bella_

_._

_Pain… Intense pain, pleading words and broken promises bring… _

_Shattered glass rained down and a rush of cool liquid bathed the hand which never moved from the sink._

_Stinging sensations stabbed his palm and scarlet rivulets cascaded over tawny skin..._

_His mind embraced the sweet release. Dripping splatters hit the stainless steel basin in a staccato rhythm and translucent shards, washed in a pink haze, protruded through the gaps in his clenched fist._

_Shit._

_**Wait…**_

Pulling his mind from the previous night, he vaguely recognizes the fleeting thoughts trying to slip through the veneer of his final memories. Something familiar, something concealed, something ugly awaits him – and he knows he is not ready for this revelation.

A high-pitched whine pierces the club's speakers when someone grabs a microphone in the deejay booth, and Jacob's attention is fully rooted back in the present. The harsh sound from the audio feedback peels enamel from teeth, grating nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Neither human nor wolf appreciates the intrusion, and the violator's voice glides through an easy apology before announcing the reason for the interruption.

It's time. Embry's up.

Leaving the table and receiving congratulatory pats from the pack, the excitement rolling off the man who was once his childhood best friend is enticing, and if Jacob wasn't a fucked up bastard, then he could enjoy the moment like the rest of them. But happiness is an elusive emotion so far removed from his vocabulary and so foreign to his psyche, he can't even fake a hint of a smile for their benefit.

Watching Embry part the crowd, the pride flashing through the dominant wolf residing in Jacob triggers an intense rage in the man. He contemplates leaving just to spite the sadistic beast because it's too fucking arrogant, it's too fucking content. Sitting on its throne with its imprint drinking herself into oblivion at the bar and every male in the club intentionally avoiding eye contact, the Alpha – the most powerful _thing_ here – is in heaven.

And Jacob? Shit, he still doesn't want to be here.

Embry is drawing the attention of every female he passes, but Jacob knows too well it's just another side effect from the motherfucking curse they've all been forced to endure. If any of these bitches knew what was really crawling under his long-lost friend's skin, they'd all run screaming.

Of course, this is just the type of environment Paul should be thriving in, but instead, he's pinned between the other imprints like a goddamn pussy-whipped puppy.

Yeah, Jacob knows...

It's fucking three.

_Shit._

Embry's quiet. Entering the booth, he doesn't acknowledge the crowd, but Jacob notices when he takes control of the synthesizer and starts laying down his tracks.

As soon as the crowd recognizes "Pumped Up Kicks" through the wobbling bass, cheers erupt and the dance floor fills.

No doubt about it, that boy's the best fucking dubstep producer around. He plays all parts in real time – nothing Embry does is pre-recorded – and _that_ is motherfucking impressive. This supernatural curse has afforded him another gift, and he always did know how to make the best of a bad situation. Jacob vaguely remembers he used to respect Embry for this trait.

Turning his attention toward the open room, he immediately feels penetrating eyes on him and scans the crowd in search of the culprit. Honing in on a round table near the dance floor – scattered with half-empty glasses and even more empty chairs – sits none other than Lauren Mallory.

Dressed in a skin-tight mini skirt and a top with a plunging neckline, she is trying her best to show off every square inch of her body.

She's trolling the strip in Port Angeles like she always does, looking for someone to help her forget the reason for the track marks on the inside of her elbows and between her toes. Her dad was one fucked up son of a bitch who left her with too many scars to count, and even though they are both desperate for a release from their own internal Hell, Jacob knows he can't help her anymore. He can't rescue her from the damn needle right now because he's got his own demons to battle – his own set of invisible wounds ripping open at the jagged seams.

Tonight, someone needs to save him.

_If it were only that easy._

Locking eyes with Jacob, Lauren momentarily piques his curiosity. Slowly raising her hand from its resting position on her crossed thighs, keeping constant contact with her body on its ascent higher, she drops her gaze and watches her fingers drag lazy trails up her flat stomach. She traces the cross-over seam of her top, grazing her swollen tits before continuing the delicate strokes up her neck, resting at her slightly parted and pouty lips.

Lightly biting the tip of her index finger, Lauren raises her eyes to meet his stare and lets out a breath neither realized she was holding. She hitches one questioning brow and allows a seductive smile to play at her lips...

_**No!**_

No. He desires more. No cocksucking bar slut is going to help him now, even if Lauren has dropped to her knees for him in the past.

Jacob wants to _care_ tonight. He _needs_ it to matter. _Something_ has to matter.

He glances over at Leah, who's been nursing a beer for the last half hour. She's lost deep in thought, staring toward the dance floor at nothing in particular. He holds his heavy gaze until she senses the heat of his intensity on her cheek and turns toward him.

He is a patient predator. No one can deny that.

As she tilts her face up to him, the Alpha allows her to look into his eyes.

Unspoken urgencies pass between them, and she knows what this night will bring. He can tell; he can read every single one of his wolves.

Jacob cuts his eyes back to Lauren's table where she is slightly angled in his direction. Still watching him, she offers a sly wink.

Without an acknowledgement of any kind, he returns his attention to the dance floor to idly observe the drunken females trying to sell sex by gyrating their hips and shoving their asses into the males' crotches. The fertile "come fuck me" hormones and heady arousal leaching out of all these people intensifies when Embry uses a heavy bass to transition into "Wild Ones."

Fuck, no wonder they call him the Master of Dubstep – MoD for short. That boy is epic.

Jacob consumes the last liquid contents of his warming beer and places it on the table with a little too much force. Like magic, another frosty bottle is thrust into his open palm.

Taking a seat, he leans the chair back on two rear legs – another transparent attempt at nonchalance.

He feels her eyes on him again, burning a hole through his chest and seizing his heart. Up until now, he has been able to ignore her stares, but this shit is getting harder to take by the second. He knows Bella is watching him, and he needs her to stop because the emotions she forces upon him are too sharp, too painful, too clear. He is not what she needs anymore. The boy she left four years ago is now caged in the deep recesses of the man's possessive and angry soul. The childish wants compelling the boy to rage against his shackles are the same desires forcing the man to jerk back hard on those chains, slamming the battered body of hope against the iron bars.

Jacob can't control himself around her because the restraint hurts too much.

To be dead would be a better fate for the past.

Yet even with all this knowledge, he can't help but choose _this_ moment to reach above his shoulder and grab the top of the chair, effectively squeezing his bicep in an attempt to fluff his feathers like a male peacock on display for a mate.

He is disgusted with himself – flaunting for her.

His weakness is revolting – his inability to be strong enough for her to depend on, to be strong enough to deserve her love. Simply put, he is incompetent, and Jacob deplores incompetency. It is dangerous, and there is no room for it in war... or in peace.

There is no room for it in his life.

Her sounds pull him from his personal Hell. The ice clinking against her teeth echoes in his ears as she drains the last drops of liquid courage, her body shuddering from the burn of the intoxicating poison. His eyes catch the slip of her tongue tasting the remnants resting on her lips. Denim rustles when she swings her legs off the barstool and rubs her hands down the front of her jeans, her satin skin meeting the textured fabric.

Sam turns to meet his eyes, and Jacob knows his second held her off as long as he could. Their pull is just too strong, and she is only human. There is no way she could be this close and not end up breaking another promise.

She is coming to him.

As Sam guides her through the room, Jacob watches her like a hawk vehemently focused on its kill. He notices out of his periphery, he's not the only one.

He turns his head, full attention now on the bartender who is blatantly ripping off her clothes and violating her body with his needy stare.

Jacob tilts his head slightly. The fingers of his heated rage lick up his spine and send blistering caresses to his scalp. Doesn't the little fucker know what the wolf, the Alpha – hell, even the man – could do to him? What they _want_ to do to him! The indignation that another male could look at her _that _way in front of him ignites the fuse of his territorial dominance.

Lowering all four chair legs to the ground, he pushes off the table and starts moving before he has fully stood.

Parting before him, the crowd frantically trips over chairs and feet in a desperate search for the quickest escape route possible. Eyes locked on his prey, stalking the weak bastard, Jacob is a predator of the highest caliber. Even muddled, human instincts can sense the danger rolling off his quivering form in waves.

Reaching the bar, he plants one palm on its lacquered surface and swings his body up and over the counter. Landing on two feet, fully erect and inches from the bartender, Jacob strikes with viper-like reflexes. Unhinging the jaw of his hand and latching onto the quarry's throat, he slams the trembling body hard against the mirrored wall. Shards of shattered reflections rain down around their feet, and Jacob presses the weight of his chest into the covetous man's torso, squeezing the air from his lungs and skimming just shy of broken-rib territory.

The Alpha leans into his ear and growls out a promise disguised as a warning, "Don't _ever_. _Fucking_. _**Look**_**.** At her again."

The inhuman rumble escaping from the confines of Jacob's chest only proves to further intensify the victim's incapacitated state. His heart rate accelerates, his glands release a repulsive stench, and his bladder relaxes as the astringent odor of urine floods the nostrils of every person within six feet and every wolf in the entire club.

The sinister sneer plastered across Jacob's lips is pure evil, and the dominant being he is revels in the mind-fucking fear his kill is currently experiencing.

The approach of Sam in his periphery draws his attention, and Jacob inadvertently catches a glimpse of his own fractured reflection in the leftover remnants of the mirrored wall. Quickly assessing the hard eyes of the stranger trapped in the Alpha's skin, he is suddenly too aware of the wrongness of the scene before him. The delirium peaking out through those darkened orbs is twisting his perception of reality.

_**This**_is why he refuses to look directly into any reflective surface. It has been years since he has peered into the windows of his own damned soul because those grimy openings only expose a bleak and malevolent essence full of anguish, despair, hostility, and vengeance.

In other words, a soul with nothing to lose.

The man encaptured under Jacob's grip squirms, and he is brought back to the present. Sensing the concern coming from his second, he releases the bartender and slowly backs away. Turning, he leaps over the counter in a single swift and fluid motion. Landing mid-stride, he never falters. He's never unsure.

He is The Alpha. He is The Predator.

Embry manipulates the synthesizer and wobbles the bass, transitioning between "Wild Ones" and "Monsters." While the captivating hook of the new track causes the drunken crowd to return its attention to the more socially acceptable thoughts of pussy and even more liquor, the fleeting realization that Professor Green's lyrics are indeed giving the masses what they _need_ causes Jacob's mind to reel. The rest of the intro is a little too reminiscent of his current situation, causing him to vaguely consider Embry's impeccable timing; the way that boy can tell a story and simultaneously influence an audience is another skill this curse has afforded him. Always the quiet optimist – the healer, the peacemaker – he's aware Embry is relaying a message, but right now, Jacob doesn't give a fuck.

Sinister eyes locked on a new target, he is now moving toward his pack.

Paul freezes, his gaze dropping to the shuffling feet before him. Pushing Kim and Emily out of the way and guarding them behind his larger frame, Jared's protective instincts are piqued. As the Alpha barrels through the crowd, the dangerous determination radiating from his core is pushing its way into the pores of all the wolves, permeating their bodies, and pulling their spines straight.

Rigid forms made of skin and bone hover, and half-empty bottles of beer litter the table like leftover confetti.

Jacob feels Sam's presence pause several feet behind him. Surrounded by _other_ imprints, he realizes the noose of his own bond is loosening. Bella is physically putting distance between them, and for a fleeting moment, he craves the strangling effect of those coarse fibers around his neck.

Fuck, he really doesn't want to be here, doing this… this warped duty of his.

To his imprint, he is a self-deprecating junkie.

To his pack, he's a goddamn puppeteer, yanking strings and making dominant wolves dance.

And it is _pure hell_.

Because some demented part of him enjoys _every.._. _single_... fucking… _minute_ of it.

Of _all_ of it.

In response to the perverted satisfaction warming his gut, a twisted grin creeps onto his face. There is no need for anything other than demands to be made at this point; these relationships have been void of pathetic human compassion for years.

Invading the lethal wolf's space, Jacob breathes down his neck. "Fight it, Paul. It will make you weak."

"I can't." Still not elevating his eyes, still frozen in his stance, he is nonetheless standing proud with his words.

The Alpha tilts his head, assessing the situation and considering the advantages of breaking the will of the man before him.

_Strong wolf. Most cunning. Fast. Ruthless. Deadly. Dominant male. Aggressive. Never backs down._

_We break him... it's __**all **__gone._

_Fuck!_

The heavy bass of Jacob's irritated and commanding growl prompts Paul to speak again.

An urgent whisper escapes the man's throat. "I don't _want_ to. I _need_ this imprint."

A soft, feminine whimper pulls the attention of the only male at the table not frozen by oppression – Jacob jerks his head toward the unsolicited interruption.

The scavenging tentacles of her desperation reach out in search of something solid to grab hold of, of something to keep her afloat, to keep her head above water – her pleading eyes jump up to meet her Alpha's.

Her pain is sickening. Her pain is familiar. Jacob can't look into the belly of that satanic spawn right now, so he allows Leah to pivot and run out of the club.

While the crowd is still filling in the gap caused by her retreat, he turns back to the object of his scrutiny.

Paul's eyes are still downcast, and he hasn't moved a single muscle – the bastard hasn't even flinched.

But the bitter words Jacob snarls through gritted teeth secures the intended result. They cause the cunning wolf to react.

"_You_. Are. Already…"

And as the Alpha growls out the final, condemning sentiment in a mix of fierce and strangled inhuman sound, the fucker finally winces.

"_**WEAK!**_**"**

Tracing Leah's path, the hard emotions etched into the iron mask of Jacob's face convinces the crowd to disperse yet again, advocating his escape into the welcoming embrace of the damp night. The chatter of the crowd at his back crescendos to a height it had yet to reach in his presence… like he was never even there... like he was just a wicked hallucination collectively brought on by the drunken stupor of a boisterous group.

Inhaling a resetting breath, Jacob yearns for the cleansing effect of the cool air to flush the rot of disgust from his body. But as the breeze wraps the scent of hazelnut and strawberries around his form, he becomes aware this most recent request will be denied.

His stomach knots in response because, shit, she's still here.

Because he is a selfish bastard, he yearns for the stinging sensation deep in his core brought on by her presence. The addiction is slowly reasserting itself, and he wants to consume her, to keep her chained to his heart. The same heart that is constricting painfully in his chest. The same heart that is stammering to a halt...

…

_Beat, heart_…

…

_Just_… _Beat_…

…

_Please_…

…

…

Bella is sitting just a few feet away on one of the benches, keeping vigil over the solemn, gravel parking lot. The low-key, ambient light of the overhead street lamp casts a soft-glowing aura around her frame.

She looks so fragile and delicate. Lowering her hand from her mouth and exhaling a puff of smoke, the cigarette between her fingers lays claim to her body, its toxic death decimating her soul.

_Bella. Please stop._

He hates himself for what he must do – for how he must break her again – but this is not the time for self-reflection.

This is the time for duty.

He can feel the enticing greed of the bond pulling at him, and he is drawn to her. He knows the danger – knows she could kill him – but he is left without the choice of retreat.

Fighting a war he's not sure he can win, he clamps down his muscles and roots himself in place even as the desperate longing of his imagination reaches out to embrace her, to wrap his arms around her tiny frame and plant butterfly kisses to her hairline. He can almost forget the last four years ever happened because…

She is his perfection.

_**No!**_

She is his pain.

Everything is screwed up in his head, and he is aware he's losing control of all his shit. Jacob's mind starts trying to process all the confusion of the last hour, but he knows this still isn't the time.

He has to focus on reality and clear his psyche of all this mesmerizing fog rolling in, filling every deep wound that has ever been inflicted on his soul, and pushing all the buried shit up to the surface.

Jerking his attention from the internal ramblings of an addicted curse, a boiling rage washes through him, and he berates himself for his weakness. Muscles tense and twitching, he is feeding on the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, chasing away all traces of those intoxicating delusions.

"You should really quit. That's a nasty habit."

She startles, his voice rising up behind her. Turning, she freezes. Lips parted, eyes riveted on him, she holds the cigarette in a state of inactivity.

Suddenly looking down at the vile toxicity lightly gripped between her fingers, she flicks the thing to the ground with a shudder of disgust.

Tearing his gaze away from her desolation, Jacob looks toward his car.

_Focus. Leave. Now._

Legs carry him across the concrete slab, and he feels the crunch of the gravel underfoot before her call halts his retreat.

He closes his eyes to hide from his emotions.

"What?" he responds, hoping his voice doesn't reveal the urges he is desperately trying to keep locked away, hoping his voice doesn't expose him for the lying bastard he is.

He hears her sharp intake of air, and he mentally sighs in relief because he knows that reaction. She has flinched. His truth has not been discovered.

"Does it have to be this way, Jake?"

_Oh, God… Yes… it does. _

He is almost undone by the pleading tone laced through her voice – imagining the pain written on her features, the pain _he_ caused _her_ – but he doesn't turn around because he can't fathom bearing witness to her bruised soul.

He _needs_ to escape.

_She_ needs to leave.

He can only hurt her now. He hates himself for what he is about to do, but there is only one way to end this... and he _must_ end this.

Wiping his expression bare, he turns to face her, lowering his voice to an icy chill.

He is ready to damage her. He is ready to destroy her.

"Have you found the Cullens?"

"No, I…" Her eyes jerk up to meet his with fear and trepidation written in the creases of her brow. "Where are they, Jake?" Her quivering bottom lip releases the whisper.

"They're gone, Bella." The evil glint shining through his eyes skewers her heart, just like he knew it would. He _is_ calculating. He _is_ vindictive. _She _needs to understand the monster he has become.

Preceded by a thick, dry swallow to compensate for the dread stripping her voice of all but a raspy, grating sound, she questions, "How?"

_That's_ the question he was hoping for.

This sickeningly sweet revelation crosses his mind and lifts the corner of his lip in an aggressive sneer.

"We hunted them down."

With a dead gaze locked on her anguish, he enunciates each word. She has to hear this; she has to grasp this.

He must be very clear.

"One by one... they pleaded. _They_ were weak." A dark, satisfying chuckle tickles his ribs. "_Edward_ begged the most."

Frozen in grief, her eyes glisten from unshed tears.

Cocking his head and softly smiling, he raises the pitch of his voice an octave as if he were attempting to gain the trust of a small child. "But Bella, begging doesn't work... You taught me that."

Hard edges set his features and ice-cold determination freezes his penetrating stare. His bipolar display causes bitter fear to leak from her pores while he slowly… deliberately… speaks.

"_Remember?"_

"Ja...ake?" She shakes her head _no_, her voice cracking in agony.

She doesn't understand this demon standing before her. Jacob can tell by the confusion causing her honeyed orbs to turn murky. He must be more clear.

"It's too cold for you here, Bella…" His smirk deepening, he is pleading with her to understand. She has to save herself because he can no longer protect her. He's going down, and he will gladly take her with him if she stays.

The _thing_ he has become… _this_ is her prize, her reward. This is all because of her.

"Time for you to run."

He simply watches as she breaks before him, torrential sobs racking her small frame.

A large part of him screams to comfort her. A small part of him is just too tired to care. A sick part of him enjoys the show, and all parts of him recognize the display for what it really is.

_**This**__ is how an angel dies._

He is stricken numb by the realization his imprint has suffered from the intention bleeding out of his hands. Suddenly, he is consumed by every ugly and raw emotion ever named – and even some that aren't – his insides twisting and contorting into something vile and unrecognizable.

The wolf is clawing its way up from the depths of the man's blackened psyche. He is losing control, the beast chomping at the bit to extricate Jacob from the obligation of this human facade.

Even _it_ knows he is too weak.

_Hate you… loathe you..._

Unable to hold himself together much longer, Jacob turns his back on Bella with the intent of retreating to the sanctity of his awaiting car.

But his gaze lags behind the movement of his body, and his eyes graze over a red, crumpled shirt haphazardly thrown in the brush on the outskirts of the gravel lot.

His vision clouds, the spiraling maelstrom of despair overtaking him in a sea of torment.

Swirling perceptions tear apart and congeal back together, dropping him in a different time, a different place.

_Shower curtain grasped in a white-knuckled grip, hand hesitant..._

_Loud breathing pushed rapid blood through his veins, distorted sounds of pulsing static embedded in his ear canals... _

_Indiscretions, hidden behind the plastic veil, became exposed when it was yanked back. _

_Screams, no longer silent, reverberated through his groggy mind... _

_Puddles of coagulated blood pooled in the concave bottom of the tub. Auburn streaks smeared up the sides of the white porcelain. _

_The final resting place of his sins mocked him._

_Why does he not remember?_

_Why can't demons die?_

A tentative touch burns his arm, jerking him from the memory, and he winces from the soft whisper of his name.

Rebelling against the concern, he forces a stern **"No!"** from his diaphragm.

Latent echoes of shadows leftover from images once too real ricochet inside his head as he begins to grasp the implications of the previous night's actions. The sickening surge of awareness jolts his gut in an attempt to induce violent stomach spasms, his mind fighting back with a wave of denial.

_Not now… not here…_

_Leave!_

Wrenching his arm from the reach of Bella's outstretched palm, he starts moving toward the welcoming sanctuary of his 'Cuda.

Ripping open the door and clambering into the car, his body vibrates, his lupine grace gone. He has to get out of there. He needs a release.

This time, he doesn't even watch her in his rearview mirror when he peels out of the lot and turns onto the long and winding, two-lane road leading back to La Push.

Minutes into the drive, thunder cracks hard in the night above, and the skies open in a downpour of misery. Even the heavens are grieving while the angels cry and the devils dance.

Lost in the void of his own dark thoughts for miles, Jacob controls the car and traverses the desolate route home on auto-pilot. No one from the Olympic Peninsula is a stranger to Port Angeles. This is a trip he has made several times.

Pulling him from charred memories, his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he slightly lifts his body to dig around and pluck the intrusive object from its burrow. Glancing down, a name he hasn't seen for months flashes across the screen.

_What the fuck does she want?_

Jacob holds the cell until it stops buzzing – until it dings – indicating a voicemail has been left.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he quickly scrolls through his contact list with the other, landing on the one person who can put his mind at ease, if just for the moment.

His second answers on the first ring.

"Take Bella home. Now."

Jacob cuts the connection because there is nothing more to say... and because it wasn't a request.

One complication averted.

She will leave Forks like he needs, but he _will_ keep her safe until she does.

She is his fucking duty, and the sick, ironic twist of this curse is not lost on him.

Pulling into his driveway, he shuts off the car and stares at the voicemail indicator.

_Shit!_

Tapping on the screen, he holds his breath because she only ever calls to criticize him about the lack of time he spends with their father. She feels Jacob could do more for Billy; he feels she should take on some of the responsibility if she's so damn concerned. Hell, he's been the only one caring for the old man since she and Rebecca moved out years ago.

Fucking Rachel Black – with a life off tribal land, with a freedom and a chance to permanently escape the confines of the Rez – condemning _him_ because she doesn't think he contributes enough.

Her message starts to play and an annoyed burst of air escapes his parted lips.

She rambles on about nothing of any significance, but he is able to ascertain she's in La Push visiting... indefinitely.

Rachel has been back for several days, and she wants to see her little brother.

Jacob deletes the message even as the slick reflections of a thought begin to form. The hazy outline of something concrete attempts to take shape, but he just doesn't have all the pieces yet to make it hold together. Seconds later, the half-formed notion is lost in the abyss of his mind, and he is left floundering in a frustrated void.

Dammit! He needs peace.

He needs _her_. Because tonight, he wants to feel. He wants to _care_.

Ripping off his shirt, he drops it in his car with his phone to stay dry.

As if in protest to his impending actions, the skies crack with streaks of fiery amber. No concern for nature's fury, he takes off through the woods – his decision already made.

Jacob is fast – he lives fast, he drives fast, he runs fast – and moments later, he steps onto the porch of the small, unassuming house. Fully aware of what awaits him just inside those clapboard walls, he leans against the railing.

Swinging open the front door, the overhead light reflects off her dark hair, the white t-shirt contrasts against her bronze skin, the shadows dance along the contours of the lean muscles in her exposed thighs… fuck, she's _ready_ for him. And for all that he is... and all that he is not... Jacob can still appreciate this beauty.

Jacob can still _devour_ this beauty.

"Did you run all the way here in the rain, Black?"

He smirks in response because she is such a bitch, and the promise of taming her is so much more enticing because she won't break.

As Leah steps back to allow him entrance, Jacob crosses the threshold of her home in search of a masochistic angel to chase the fucking malevolent devil away.

* * *

* _Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna._ ;-)


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